


A Work of Questionable Literary Merit

by c7brooks



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Humor, F/F, Friendship/Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension, enchanted sexual accoutrement because yes, of course., squishy feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-02 18:44:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 90,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5259614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/c7brooks/pseuds/c7brooks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A conversation between a Seeker and a spymaster involving, or referencing, apples, bows, swords, knitting needles, Schmooples, lesbian romance serials, numerous growls of disgust, brontos and Orlesian soups.</p><p>I ship these two so hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mornings in the Courtyard

**Author's Note:**

> Most likely this will be a multi-chapter story, which may veer, ever-so-slightly, off canon but definitely not enough to be AU. Later chapters will be rated M. Not because the writing (nor the writer) will be mature, but because there will probably be sex. Graphic sexing.
> 
> Also, I am the only person editing this work. Usually, I fret over chapters endlessly and will edit them to death. In an effort to keep the chapters coming at a reasonable pace, I'm only reviewing a chapter 4 or 5 times instead of my usual, 10 or 20. Therefore, you may see major grammatical/typographical errors before I can catch them. I apologize. Also, I find even that after I have posted, I cannot resist minor content edits. Usually it's just a word or two and nothing that will change the story too dramatically. Thanks for your patience.

### Mornings in the Courtyard

The first rays of a sun, peaking over the walls of Skyhold, flashed against the burnished armor of a Seeker. With a satisfied grunt, Cassandra seated herself on a nearby bench, sweat-soaked from a vigorous practice session with Krem. Rotating her shoulder, she felt a little tightness in the joint and knew she would later need a muscle salve. She smirked, remembering the look on Krem’s face when he had attempted to unsettle her with his shield slam. There would be a bruise for sure but Cassandra kept her feet, much to the charger’s surprise. Krem was more brute force than technique, no doubt reinforced from his training with Bull, and Cassandra rarely had trouble besting him. Even so, he was good and, more importantly, consistent. In these early mornings, when the light was still grey, some would come out to the yard for practice. Perhaps Blackwall would stumble out, still bleary-eyed from a restless sleep and a bit too sloppy for Cassandra’s taste; Bull, if he had not been too far into his cups the night before, would swing that giant axe of his with an alarming smile on his face; and even the Inquisitor, if she needed to perfect a spell or, as Cassandra often suspected, she just wanted to throw a few fireballs her way. But Krem was _always_ there. The charger never balked, made excuses, or complained that Cassandra hit too hard - or other such nonsense. He just lifted his shield and went at it. It was exactly as Cassandra liked. 

It didn’t take long for Cassandra to realize that Krem was viewing her as a teacher. With the Order of Seekers being as it is, and with her role in the Inquisition, Cassandra was not in the position to formally take an apprentice. Admittedly, she was pleasantly surprised when Krem chuckled and told her that he wasn’t looking to be her apprentice, quite the contrary; he was perfectly happy to continue as Bull’s lieutenant. The money was good, and as long as you did your job the rules were relatively lax. Besides, he was Tevinter. He also went on to say that even though he was Tevinter, a lowly soporati at that, it didn’t mean he was stupid enough to sit around and train with (no offense to anyone listening) a bunch of commoners when the _Hero of Orlais_ was swinging her sword right in front of you. Cassandra remembered that she couldn’t help rolling her eyes at the Hero reference, but otherwise saw no fault in his reasoning. Cassandra was a skilled warrior. This much she knew about herself or she would, quite frankly, be dead. So as long as he was willing to learn, and to take the bruises that came with it, Cassandra was willing to teach him the more refined techniques he was lacking. 

As Krem walked passed, they grunted their goodbyes with Cassandra barely looking up as she unbuckled her armor. That was another thing she liked about him: he didn’t require niceties like small-talk. She would never understand why society required her to partake in such trivialities. In her estimation there more important things to consider than how low one must bow in the presence of Lord In-Love-With-Himself and Lady Snooty-face. Poor Josephine. Cassandra certainly did not make it easy for the Ambassador. Shrugging off the thought, Cassandra could find little remorse in her reputation if it meant getting out of official Inquisition soirees. Maker, Cassandra hated those things. She was much more comfortable swinging her sword at a practice dummy. 

At least Josephine no longer asked her to attend all Inquisition functions. She would only receive official invitations to events of the highest importance. And even then, Josephine would discretely shepherd her from one noble arse to the other, ready to conveniently interrupt if it looked as if Cassandra’s infamously shallow well of patience had finally dried, which was inevitable. Then Josephine would gently push her in Leliana’s direction, making up some “important Inquisition business” to which they had to attend. She never understood why Leliana was involved because the Spymaster had an attraction to these gatherings – being a master of The Game. But Cassandra didn’t complain, and secretly looked forward to it.

Duly contrite, Cassandra would skulk toward Leliana who would, of course, give her a reproachful look but then flick her head signaling that Cassandra should follow. They might wander to up to the rookery, or even to private quarters, where Leliana would produce a bottle of wine. A good bottle and not the swill laid out on the long tables for the evening repast. Leliana would pour a half cup for Cassandra, who could not hold her drink very well, and a full cup for herself with a bit of honey to sweeten the grape. Then she would dump the bottle, as open bottles are ripe for poisoning, and between sips would astound the Seeker with everything she had managed to observe whilst at the party/ball/soiree (Cassandra never knew which it was, officially). A fond smile crossed Cassandra’s features and she figured she really should purchase a few more of those fancy writing quills for the Ambassador. It was probably the least she could do. 

The rest of Skyhold was beginning to wake now and a few Inquisition soldiers meandered by, nodding respectfully in her direction. Cassandra pulled off her chest armor and thought briefly about removing her gambeson too. However, the chill winter air made her think better of the idea. With her chest piece in her lap, she had become so focused on a scratch in her armor that she startled at the thwack of an arrow hitting a nearby target. Quickly her eyes found the culprit. “Spymaster,” Cassandra greeted, feigning serious boredom at such antics. 

“Seeker,” a smirking Leliana replied, bow in hand. Reaching into the folds of her armored vestments to pull out an apple, Leliana then rubbed it to a shine on her thigh. With a wink, she took a bite before tossing it to Cassandra.

Raising an eyebrow toward the Spymaster (who was now smiling around the chunk of apple in her mouth) Cassandra took a moment to study the green pomme. It was of good size, albeit a bit bruised and now it had a perfect bite taken out of its flesh. A wry smile graced the Seeker’s face as she also took a bite, the fruit sweet and as juicy as the surprised look on Leliana’s face. Perfection. It seemed like such a shame to waste it, but…she tossed the apple in the direction of the target. Regaining her ken, Leliana quickly loosed her notched arrow, which struck the apple true, pinning it to the target. 

“Nice parlor trick.” 

“No,” Leliana huffed. “This is the parlor trick.” And faster than Cassandra’s eyes could see, Leliana had flicked two small throwing daggers toward the target. Each now piercing the opposite sides of the apple. 

Cassandra could see that they had captured the attention of a few nearby soldiers, their faces a mixture of awe and fear over their Spymaster’s deadly skills. This was nothing, for she had witnessed Leliana in battle and that was truly a sight to behold. A sense of pride welled within her chest, but she hid it under a grunt of affected indifference. “Are those knitting needles?” She asked, hefting her sword across her lap. 

“I once saved a dwarf’s life with such humble tools. Have you a pair, Seeker?” Leliana asked with an innocent smile. She did enjoy Cassandra’s surly humor.

Cassandra chuckled. “Perhaps you would like to spar with the Right Hand?” 

A tilting of a head still hidden under her cowl, signaled that Leliana was greatly amused by the comment. “Surely you make me out to be a fool, for only a fool would turn down such an offer.” 

Cassandra could feel the blush warm her cheeks but there was nothing she could do about it. The Maker had graced her with many things, but the ability to prevent her cheeks from turning crimson was not amongst them. Shaking her head in admonishment, she ran a gloved hand down the length of her blade, feeling for nicks that would weaken it. “It would do you well to brush up on the sword,” she said ignoring Leliana’s double-entendre. “Not every enemy can be dispatched from afar.” 

“That’s what daggers are for, silly,” Leliana said, the lilting note of her voice softening the taunt.

Cassandra watched from under her brow as Leliana walked to the target and retrieved her projectiles. She looked down as a smirk graced the Spymaster’s face, suddenly finding the pommel of her sword very interesting. She did not look up until a booted foot gently tapped at her armored one. “Perhaps, you would like another lesson with the bow?” Leliana asked.

“Gah,” Cassandra groused. “Point taken, Sister Nightingale.” She cringed at the memory of Leliana’s one and only lesson on the bow and how utterly horrible she was with the weapon. And she never fared well with daggers either. Although when she thought of them as miniature swords, her skill could be deemed passable. “It is no secret that a bow or dagger in my hands would be a boon for an assailant,” she conceded, flexing her hands and wondering how they could be so traitorous. 

A brief look of affection crossed Leliana's features. She placed her bow against the end of the bench and sat next to the woman who is, at once, her opposite and her mirror. “You have a fine sword, and a beautiful way with it,” she said, boldly putting her hand upon Cassandra's blade. “I could not picture you with anything but these weapons you wield like extensions of your own body. So yes, leave the arrows and daggers to me, and I shall hope that if I ever need a sword and shield you are close by.”

“Always,” Cassandra replied. 

It was said without hesitation and Leliana could see the fierce conviction in the Seeker’s eyes. Had she been younger, Leliana might have let the tears, which sprang from such sentiment, flow freely. But that girl was no more. Cassandra went back to studying her sword, and Leliana knew she could not let the moment simply pass. The Seeker was much too sensitive. “Besides,” Leliana gently teased, “your hands are too bold for such delicate things.” 

Leliana was satisfied to see a slight smile tug at Cassandra’s mouth. This was her Cassandra: the one that wasn’t just a pious Seeker or the fierce warrior architect of the Inquisition. With Leliana, Cassandra was just a woman with flaws, a dry wit, and a bone-deep kindness few would witness outright, but would most likely benefit from in some form or fashion. This Cassandra was precious to her; a fact that was becoming more distressing to Leliana every day. 

“Too bold or too rough? Tis good then that I have no desire for delicate things,” Cassandra scoffed, bumping her shoulder, ever-so-gently, into Leliana’s.

Leliana did not let herself delve further into the meaning of Cassandra’s words or actions. There were some wishes better yet ignored. Instead, she reached into her vestments and pulled out another apple. 

“Does the chef know you are raiding her root cellar for targets?”

Leliana shrugged as she handed the apple to her friend. “I wouldn’t be a very good spymaster if she did. Eat that one; I know that soon your stomach will be growling.”

Cassandra scowled but dutifully took a bite. It was true, her stomach was always alerting her when it was time to eat. 

Leliana averted her eyes as a bit of juice ran down Cassandra’s chin. The Seeker had a tendency to attack her food as if it had aggrieved her in some way. The food was generally shoveled, not savored, with bites too large and much too frequent. Leliana could not figure out why, for Maker’s sake, she found it so appealing to watch. As a distraction, she let her eyes roam the yard. Workers were hurrying toward their morning duties, and soldiers were deep into their drills, so Leliana safely surmised that eyes would not rest long on two ex-Hands of a Divine, sitting together on a bench. Leliana imagined that people would assume she and Cassandra were plotting out Inquisition strategy. In reality, they were simply enjoying each other’s company. Like normal people. She pulled back her cowl, mussing her shoulder-length hair in the process, and angled her face toward the sun. Inhaling deeply, she closed her eyes, gifting herself this momentary and simple pleasure.

Cassandra did a double-take. So long had it been when she had seen Leliana sitting outside without that blessed hood! Leliana’s hair was darker from the long winter nights, now more like the color of bloodstone. The lighter streaks of strawberry-blonde all but gone. Cassandra could not say if she was saddened by this fact; Leliana was stunning either way. 

“You are staring, Seeker,” Leliana said with unopened eyes and a smile.

“Your hair is darker.”

Hiding her head once again beneath her cowl, she gave Cassandra a rueful smile. “As it gets.”

“It is…I mean,” Cassandra sighed for she was about as tactful as a bear in an antiquities shop, “I like it. Not that _that_ matters, but…the color is lovely.” 

It did matter, because Leliana had begun to collect every compliment from Cassandra as if it were a unique seashell found along the shores of the Waking Sea. Not that she would ever tell Cassandra such a thing. Leliana nodded toward the far end of the courtyard. “The Inquisitor is up and about.” 

Cassandra followed Leliana’s eyes and saw the Inquisitor sauntering toward the Throne Room. “Making her way to our Ambassador’s office, no doubt. Although it is early, yet. I wonder if Josephine is prepared for visitors.”

“She is always prepared.”

“Ah. Of course,” Cassandra replied. 

Leliana looked up toward the Ambassador’s window. Nearly every morning, she and Josie shared a pot of tea, gossiped and watched the happenings in the courtyard below. Mostly, it gave Leliana an excuse to watch Cassandra’s morning ritual unnoticed. Except by the Ambassador, who, like Leliana, knew when to keep secrets. 

“What do you think?” Cassandra asked after a long moment.

“Hmm?”

“Josephine and the Inquisitor.” 

“What about them?”

“Do not play coy with me, Spymaster,” Cassandra warned. 

Leliana chuckled. “They aren't an item.”

“They will be.”

“Do you think?”

“Andraste’s mercy,” Cassandra muttered. “Do you think, Leliana? Of course! It is obvious even to me.” 

“Now who's being coy with such a self-deprecating remark?” Of course Leliana could not be surprised that Cassandra would notice the budding romance between Josie and the Inquisitor. The Seeker is, after all, such a closet romantic. “It was not so long ago when the Inquisitor cast her eye toward you,” she teased.

“Ugh,” Cassandra groaned. “Yes, well, that disaster has been successfully diverted. Besides, she was hardly serious.” 

“You did not think even for a moment–”

“Leliana, I did not. Not even for a moment. But, we are not talking about me.” 

With a sigh, Leliana shrugged. “Josephine has a great tendency toward unrequited crushes.”

“As does our Inquisitor,” Cassandra added.

“True,” Leliana said with a laugh. “And both are unapologetic. For Josie…let’s see…Messere Hawke was a brief infatuation until a rather risqué gift from Hawke’s occasional lover was vetted through Josie’s office. There is really no way to compete with a pirate,” she said with a waggle of her eyebrows. That elicited a rare laugh from Cassandra. Not a polite chuckle or that gruff guffaw, but a bonafide laugh! It was like gold. Indulgently, she scooted closer to the Seeker, her voice lowered to nearly a whisper. “Then there was Cullen, before Josie realized how dismal he could be. Even in these dark times one must smile on occasion, no? Oh and Vivienne, which lasted all of two seconds or shortly after Vivian called her, ‘dear’ in that condescending way of hers,” another laugh. “I think Solas as well, but he’s even more dour than Cullen, don’t you know? And then there is Krem –”

“Ah yes,” Cassandra interrupted, stomping a booted foot into the ground. “Many mornings I have spied, from underneath my helm, our Ambassador from her window.”

“You have?”

Cassandra smiled. “Yes, and her dear friend. You are not as hidden as you think, Spymaster,” Cassandra declared with a triumphant gleam in her eyes. “Krem is quite handsome and very skilled. Be not ashamed that he has caught your eye as well.”

Leliana could not help the snort and the comment which fell from her lips. “You think it is Krem who I'm watching?” Cassandra could not be that dense. Could she?”

“Who else?”

Yes. Yes, she could be. “Cassandra, do you not think you are a thing to behold when you are like that?”

“Like what?” Cassandra asked with furrowed brow. 

“Here!” Leliana made a thrusting motion toward the practice yard. “On the field, so full of passion and power!” Leliana watched the full bloom of Cassandra’s blush and it created such an ache within her that she regretted saying anything at all. Unconsciously, Leliana brought a hand up to her chest. It was if all the repressed feelings were breaking through, bit by bit. A crack here and there, and soon she would be unable to stem the tide. She clutched at her vestments. No. These sorts of feelings brought only pain, and she could not endure such heartbreak again. She was not as strong as she once was, and not nearly as willing to be as selfless in this matter. If she were to let go, would she be able to watch Cassandra leave the walls of Skyhold, knowing how many times the Seeker would put herself in harm’s way? Already it was difficult. Much too often the reports had come back and a single sentence within blurred the rest of the words around it: _‘Seeker Cassandra has been injured, but she is healing well.’_ If necessary, Cassandra would sacrifice herself, and Leliana already lived through that once. - barely. Time had taught her well. 

Leliana shook her head, breaking free from those thoughts. “I…it’s…Josie would kill me if I told you,” Leliana deflected like a coward, “but at one time, you were on top of the list, you know?” Inwardly, she cringed but if anyone would forgive her and understand it would be Josie. “The Inquisitor, then our Ambassador. Surely you must realize what sort of affect you have on people.”

“I…I do not.”

“Rubbish.”

Cassandra stubbornly shook her head. “And what about you?” She challenged. 

Leliana opened her mouth to speak and closed it again. She knew she must have looked quite foolish. 

“I believe most of Skyhold would be at your beck and call if you so wished,” Cassandra continued with an assured flick of her hand.

“That is ridiculous, Cassandra! They already are,” she jested. 

Cassandra made that sound - the sound that Leliana knew was amusement but to most it sounded mostly like revulsion. “That is because most of Skyhold is also terrified of you.” 

“You are not,” Leliana stated with a laugh.

Cassandra shrugged, leaning back on her hands. “Indeed, I find it hard to be frightened of a woman who has a pet nug named, Schmooples the Second.” 

“Schmooples is quite deadly, you know?”

“Of course, I know. I’ve read the reports.” Cassandra chuckled. “Speaking of being unafraid. Thank you.” When Leliana looked confused, Cassandra clarified. “For the book.”

“Ah,” Leliana smirked. “So you found it.”

“Yes. It was hard to miss, placed on my pillow. In my locked room.” 

“I know you wish for discretion when it comes to this, Cassandra. Even though it is the worst kept secret in Skyhold: our esteemed Seeker’s love of works with questionable literary merit.”

“Yet, I continue to find comfort in the illusion of privacy. Thank you, Spymaster, for breaking into my room to protect my not-so-secret-secret. Maker only knows why I have yet to give you a key.” 

Leliana laughed, a lilting sing-song sound that always hit Cassandra’s ears just right. Leliana placed a hand on Cassandra’s shoulder. “It is my pleasure. Do you like it?” 

Cassandra nodded. “Have you read it?”

“I have. I heard about it from one of my agents. It’s a very popular. Although, I know this sort of… pairing is not what you usually read. You know the winter storms have slowed trade and I thought perhaps it was better than reading _Swords and Shields_ for the fourth time.” That comment earned her a smack on the arm. “Ouch,” she cried.

“It is fine.” It was more than fine and Cassandra found the story of the Knight and her lady intensely erotic. Leaning forward and resting her forearms on her knees, Cassandra rubbed her hands nervously. “Is that…” she cleared her throat, “Is that what…it’s like?”

Leliana bowed her head, urging Cassandra to look her squarely in the eye. “Not everything you read in romance novels is the same as real life.”

“I realize, but is that how two women…”

“Make love?” Leliana asked. Cassandra nodded quickly and Leliana had to hide her amusement at the display of such eager innocence from her hardened Seeker. “It is a fair representation. Are you finally curious?” She could not help but tease. It was so delicious to see Cassandra get flustered.

Cassandra’s face reddened once again. “Is it your life’s work to see how many times you can make me blush in one sitting?”

“Seeker,” Leliana leaned in closer to Cassandra, “it is but one,” she said with a devious smile. Then she placed her hand over Cassandra’s and gave it an affectionate squeeze. “I believe it is a serial; would you like to read the rest?” Cassandra looked at her suspiciously and Leliana put up a hand in surrender. “No more teasing; I swear it.”

“I would.”

“I will make it so, then,” she affirmed as Cassandra’s stomach growled, causing Leliana to look pointedly at the Seeker’s belly. “Do people know that you have two infamous growls?”

“Ha,” Cassandra deadpanned. “It is only natural, considering,” she said with a nod toward the practice ring. “Would you like to join me for morning repast?” 

Leliana shook her head, realizing that she would like nothing more than to sit here, as they were, for hours. But she had already indulged for too long. “I must get to the rookery.”

“Very well. Do find time to eat, Leliana. Your birds have more meat on their bones than you do.” It was said in jest but Leliana’s face fell, just slightly. Again, Cassandra inwardly cursed her blunt tongue. “I was only joking. Of course you are perfect as you are, Leliana.” she said quickly and before she could censure herself. “Your beauty…it is...well, other’s pale in comparison.”

Leliana beamed for Cassandra had never called her beautiful. “And you are perfect as well, Lady Seeker. May you realize that sooner or later,” she insisted, recognizing the look on Cassandra’s face. It is a look she’d seen many times from the Seeker when others pay compliment to her appearance. “Stubbornly modest, you are. We’ve already established two people here in Skyhold who would have dared court you. I’m sure there are many more who pine for Lady Pentaghast.” 

“And do _you_?”

Leliana was again struck dumb. Cassandra flitted between being delightfully oblivious to being razor precise with observations. Her mouth gaped, and once again, she thought she must look ridiculous.

Cassandra gave her a triumphant smile. “And now the tables have turned as the Nightingale blushes.” Slapping her thighs, Cassandra stood. “I must leave now that I have at least scored one hit.”

“Wait,” Leliana said, handing Cassandra a small scroll in the process. 

“Oh no,” Cassandra pointed accusingly at the scroll. “You have become Lady Montilyet’s messenger?”

“So dramatic,” Leliana admonished with a roll of her eyes. She thrust the scroll towards Cassandra forcing her to take it. “How else is she to get you the invitation?”

“You mean summons,” Cassandra pouted.

“Don’t be such a baby.”

“And now I am a baby. Am I a dramatic baby?”

Leliana held the laugh that was bubbling in her chest. “Yes, as a matter of fact, you are. Do you know you have scared away all of Josie’s staff? They refuse to deliver these to you because, as they say, you blame the messenger.”

“That is why the last summons I received came from the smithy?”

“Yes! And he said never again!”

“Ridiculous! They make me sound like a bronto. I don’t see you quivering in your boots.”

Leliana stood and got nose to nose with Cassandra. “Who says I am not quivering?”

And there it was, the cheeks turning the lovely shade of red. Cassandra hid her face in her hands. “I hate you,” she mumbled through gloved fingers.

Leliana pulled Cassandra’s hands away from her face. “I told Josie you would say that, but I know you don’t mean it. It is for the Inquisition’s Winter Dinner, Cassandra. You must have noticed the visiting dignitaries. And yes, you must attend.”

“I don’t see why, I-”

“Josie has made your excuses plenty, Cassandra. Believe me, if she could avoid having you there tonight, she would. However, there has been a special request for your attendance by Comte De Julien.” 

“Argh,” Cassandra growled. “Why? So he can bore me _again_ with his extensive knowledge of Orlesian soup, or ask me what it’s like to slay dragons, or, or other equally stupid questions!”

“Perhaps,” Leliana answered, finally unable to stop a giggle and causing Cassandra to fold her arms and burn a look at the Spymaster. “Look, I know you hate these things,” Leliana acquiesced. “The Comte is an important advocate of the Inquisition. And like it or not after the Inquisitor you are the face of the Inquisition. You may no longer be the Right Hand of the Divine, but you are the Inquisitor’s right hand. She never leaves Skyhold without you by her side. She depends on you. Thedas depends on you. Be proud of that. I am.”

Cassandra was speechless for a moment, then two blinks and she was narrowing her eyes at the Spymaster. “We have been friends too long for you to ply me with such platitudes.”

“Has it worked?”

“I will be there,” Cassandra begrudgingly agreed. 

Leliana smiled and shrugged. “Good. It’s always more fun when you are.”

“You lie,” Cassandra scoffed.

“Yes, quite frequently,” Leliana said with a wicked smirk. “But rarely to you, Seeker.” 

“Ah,” Cassandra said wryly. 

“I think this time you should procure the wine that we will share after your inevitable banishment from tonight’s festivities.” 

“I may be inclined to stay the whole time!” She was sure she could, if she wanted. 

“There will be dancing.”

Cassandra’s shoulders sank. “What vintage wine do you prefer?” Leliana laughed, causing a wide smile to appear on Cassandra’s face. “It is infinitely more bearable when you are there as well,” she said honestly. 

“You flatter me,” Leliana whispered with a fluttering of her eyelashes. She did not consciously mean to flutter her lashes, it just happened. Then she pulled out yet another apple from her vestments.

“Leliana, where are you hiding all those fruits?”

Smirking, the Spymaster slapped the apple in Cassandra’s hand. “Make sure you put some effort into it, Seeker,” she challenged, reaching for her bow.

“You have no need to impress me, Spymaster,” Cassandra teased back. She waited until Leliana was set. Then with a nod from the red-head, she reared back and threw the apple as high as she possibly could. 

Leliana waited until the apple looked to be near its peak trajectory then she let her arrow fly. A direct hit, of course, but Leliana quickly notched another arrow and another until the apple hit the ground. Three arrows had sundered its flesh. Leliana knew she need not impress the Seeker, but that didn’t mean she would stop trying.


	2. A Winter Dinner in the Throne Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There will be dancing.

Entering the Throne room unseen, as intended, Leliana discretely wiped the dust from her shoulders. Skyhold still had many of its nooks and crannies filled with the accumulated detritus of its most recent abandonment. Leliana had just completed the last of her security checks and was confident that she had the right people in all the right places. Cullen, of course, was in charge of the formal defense measures that were equal parts ceremony and security. Skyhold had to have all the bells and whistles, which included guards dressed in freshly laundered uniforms and shiny swords pressed to their hips, to impress patrons and travelers alike. Several squads of soldiers patrolled the exterior while all the critical defensive space within the hold were occupied by a soldier in full Inquisition colors. Of course Leliana knew it was foolish to show all your cards, so her small squad of agents was the invisible deterrent; they were tasked with stopping an incident before it had even happened or at least before anyone found out about it. 

In its short time, the Inquisition had acquired many enemies and killing the Inquisitor would be a crowning achievement for any assassin. But who better to thwart an assassin than an assassin? Leliana was pleased with their preparations but still, she was aware that nothing was full proof. When presented with the security plan the Inquisitor raised her eyebrow and shrugged as if to say, “whatever.” Then she grabbed her staff, lit all the candles on a nearby chandelier, momentarily admired the warm glow radiating from said candles, then froze the chandelier, and then shattered it as she walked out of the room. Point made. Inquisitor Lavellan is a very formidable mage. Still, Leliana and Cullen agreed that it was always best to plan for the worst. 

Josephine alarmed when she turned to see Leliana standing next to her. “Oh for the love of Andraste! How do you appear out of nowhere?”

“I don’t. I entered through those doors, just like you,” Leliana said as she pointed at the entry way. 

“I do not move like a wraith,” Josephine grumbled before returning to her mental strategizing. Bann Collath was not to have any more wine. The woman was a terrible drunk, which didn’t really concern Josephine. What did concern her was that representatives from both Ferelden and Orlais were in attendance. Comtesse Coralaine had an ill-disguised angry disposition toward Ferelden, and would be looking for any excuse to inflate a minor incident to a slight of such disgrace that, if played correctly, could very well start a war – or a small skirmish at the very least. Bann Collath had already stumbled into her once, sending the Comtesse’s attendants scurrying about in a collective effort to assuage their mistress’ near apoplexy. A second drunken stumble would be concerning but a third would be positively disastrous. And all this before dinner had even been served!

“You look very lovely, Josie.” So occupied Josephine was that she barely had the wherewithal to give a perfunctory, but polite, interjection as she called over one of her assistants. Leliana was not annoyed by Josephine’s distraction. She understood that making these events seem effortless, actually took an immense amount of effort. She laid a reassuring hand on Josephine’s arm. “I’ll find you later.”

“No, no wait,” Josephine discretely grabbed at her friend’s hand. “Just give me one moment.” She then instructed her assistant to make sure that the Bann’s glass was always full of a watered-down and highly sweetened wine that Josephine had requested especially for these types of situations. When her assistant hurried off to complete his task, Josephine then turned her attention toward the Spymaster. “My apologies, Leliana.”

“It’s quite all right, Josie. I honestly didn’t mind. You’ve got your hands full organizing this soiree.”

“Yes. It is quite…trying at times. I sometimes feel as if I am a glorified babysitter.”

“Bann Collath?”

“Indeed,” Josephine sighed. 

Leliana chuckled. “Such a lovely dress for a babysitter. Hmm. Not an Orlesian design. Nevarran?”

Nodding, Josephine demurely brought a hand up to her bodice. The dress was somewhat more risqué than what she was used to, but still modestly cut. She had to admit the lack of ruffles felt positively scandalous. 

“From Yvette?”

“Yes, she said Nevarran is all the rage this winter. What do you think?” 

“I think it’s absolutely gorgeous.”

“Goodness,” Josephine startled at the voice that came from her left. 

“Pardon the intrusion,” Inquisitor Lavellan said, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “But I could hardly resist paying compliment to two of the loveliest women in the room.” She then bowed in a grand style, causing Leliana to roll her eyes at the elf’s roguish demeanor. “Anyway, that dress! It accentuates your figure perfectly. If I may say, you are simply stunning, Lady Montilyet.”

Josephine had the good graces to color, and would have coquettishly fanned herself had she not forgotten the accoutrement on her desk. “Such flattery, Your Worship.”

“Maker’s breath, you two,” Leliana muttered under her breath. She wasn’t trying to be a prude, and if anyone deserved a bit of happiness it was these two, but sometimes too much was _too much_. And besides, she had yet to sit the Inquisitor down and have a “what are your intentions” talk. If this flirtation progressed much further, Leliana decided she would have to do that very soon. She liked the Inquisitor, but she adored Josie, and anchor be damned, if the Inquisitor hurt her friend the Inquisition might need a new Inquisitor. She liked Hawke. Leliana nodded her head once, deciding that Hawke would make an excellent Inquisitor, if necessary.

“Yes, I know, my adoring public awaits,” the Inquisitor said as she surveyed the room. “So many masks and baubles,” she observed with a long sigh. “Anyway,” she turned her attention back toward Leliana. “Apologies, Spymaster for my vociferous proclamation of our Ambassadors exquisite beauty. I pray you won’t stab me whilst I sleep?”

Despite herself, Leliana smiled. “We shall see.”

The Inquisitor laughed with that easy way of hers. Despite her circumstances, she seemed remarkably resigned to her fate, displaying extraordinary good humor. In fact, it was an infectious humor that Leliana could simultaneously appreciate, especially when her antics could elicit a reluctant smile from Cassandra, and worry over. A Dalish elf with a glowing green hand and a lack of self-importance is not the easiest thing to manage. 

“Might I say,” the Inquisitor ventured, “you look very…”

“Austere?” Leliana asked with an exaggerated curtsy. The new dress uniforms had only arrived today in neatly tied packages and a card written in Josie’s hand, which read, “In Service of the Inquisition.” Leliana thought the uniform itself was fine, but did wish it were in a different color. Too much red washed her out, making her skin look a bit nuggish.

“I was going to say…formal,” the Inquisitor teased. “These uniforms certainly are fancy but maybe a bit rigid, yeah?”

“Oh, I think they are quite fetching, Your Worship.”

A wide smile graced the Inquisitor’s face. “Leliana, please tell me she talking about me. I’m the fetching one, right?”

“Speaking of,” Leliana began, “why is it that you get to wear a dress and we…” her words faded as a commotion at the entrance drew their attentions. Cassandra had arrived. 

“Talk about fetching,” the Inquisitor observed. “She certainly makes this uniform look rather amazing.”

“Indeed,” Josephine agreed, her eyes, however, were on Leliana. She stood on her toes to discreetly whisper in the Spymaster’s ears, “Do close your mouth, Leliana. I don’t wish to have to reach over and help you do it.”

Leliana snapped her mouth shut and with a shake of her head blew out a low breath, planting a smile on her face when the Inquisitor turned her gaze back toward them. “Well that’s my cue, I’m afraid. I sorta cheap-shotted Cass with a fireball the other day, sooo I promised I’d make it up to her. Hopefully my Inquisitor magnetism will draw some of her admirers away. Wish me luck!” With that the Inquisitor bound down the hall toward a Seeker who looked as if she were trying her very best to not punch people straight-away. 

“Sweet Andraste,” Leliana whispered. 

“Oh Leliana,” Josephine tutted sympathetically. “This would be cute if it weren’t so serious.” 

Leliana quickly turned away. “Josie,” she warned.

“Apologies,” Josephine replied, but she didn’t sound very apologetic at all. “You’re right. I would never describe you as ‘cute.’ Beautiful, yes. Lethal-” 

“Josie,” Leliana warned again, but her eyes were once again riveted on Cassandra. “I forgot…”

“Forgot what? What Lady Pentaghast looks like?” Josephine teased. 

Leliana nodded then quickly shook her head. “No, I mean, yes!” She leaned in closer to Josephine and lowered her voice. “I mean, how she looks dressed in this sort of…,” she pointed at the uniform she had on. “Maker’s breath. How long has she looked like that?”

Josephine laughed quietly. “I do believe she was born with that jaw-line, so, forever? Oh my, Messere Wellasway is making a beeline right for -”

“Where am I seated this evening?”

Josephine shook her head, confused by Leliana’s non-sequitur. “At the Inquisitor’s left, as usual, and across from –”

“Cassandra.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Move me.”

“What?”

“Move me, Josephine. You must. I fear I may be too distracted and –”

“Oh dear, Leliana. You can’t be serious?”

“I am.”

Josephine shook her head. “I will certainly not. This is ridiculous. Besides it is too late, and quite frankly I need you as a buffer between the Inquisitor and the rest of her inner circle. Sera and Bull are coming and I don’t need to remind you what happened last time, do I?” She put her hand up to stave off any arguments. “And I dare say, Cassandra also needs to see you sitting across from her. Our Seeker is many things, but a maker of small-talk she is not.”

“She is perfectly capable,” Leliana groused. 

Josephine covered her mouth before an unseemly guffaw of disbelief could escape. After she composed herself, she removed her hand and reached for the ruffles of her dress before realizing they were not there. Instead, she rested a hand on her ruffle-free bodice. “For the love of Andraste, the two of you…” Josephine sighed. She had been aware of her friend’s growing feelings for Cassandra for some time. Of course it was not readily apparent to the casual onlooker, due to the fact that Leliana is quite versed in hiding her feelings. But Josephine is an astute observer and she could see the subtle changes in the way and the number of times Leliana’s eyes would fall on Cassandra, or how she would mention her a bit more frequently in conversation. One morning, Leliana was so entrenched at the window observing Cassandra’s practice that Josephine could no longer curb her curiosity. Surprisingly, Leliana seemed relieved to confess. Although Leliana made it perfectly clear that she did not _know_ what she was feeling toward Cassandra, only that her feelings, whatever they were, had intensified. She also said that if Josephine whispered a word of this to anyone, her undergarments would be hung so high above the ramparts that they would have to be made part of the Inquisition's heraldry. 

“Come along,” Josephine beckoned to Leliana. “Dinner is about to be served.”

As they sat at the long banquet table, amidst the sound of cutlery hitting the metal dishes and the hum of several voices becoming one, Leliana carefully avoided making eye-contact with Cassandra. Yet, she could feel the Seeker’s eyes imploring her to look across the table. Feeling horrible about it, but too unsettled to change her course of action, Leliana decided that she would find a way to make it up to the Seeker. So as she feigned an interest in Bann Collath’s semi-drunken treatise on Ferelden war dogs, she thought about some books Cassandra may wish to read. Perhaps poetry? Leliana had acquired a tome with some wonderful love…Leliana shook her head. No that would be much to forward to receive such things from a friend. Shaken from her thoughts by a rather indelicate slap on the shoulder from the Bann, Leliana returned her focus to the women beside her, and certainly not on woman across from her. Fortunately the Inquisitor was being true to her word and valiantly trying to distract the Comte. It had worked to an extent and the Comte preened like a peacock under the attentions of the Inquisitor, but he remained completely smitten with Cassandra. It was obvious to most at the table that Lady Pentaghast was nearing critical levels of impatience and was on the verge of doing something quite unladylike. “Begging your pardon, I will just take your word for it as I do not wish to feel the thread count of your pants,” Cassandra said dully, as she white-knuckled her butter knife. 

Leliana, unable to continue ignoring the Seeker’s plight, cleared her throat and was about to give the Comte her most engaging smile when an unlikely hero came to Cassandra’s rescue. 

“Oiy, Comte Julie-Ann, is it?” The elf leaned forward so she could see the Comte past Vivienne, who had strategically been seated next to Sera by the Ambassador. Normally, sitting those two next to one another was a recipe for disaster. But Vivienne had, in the past, discretely offered Josephine the service of her magic if Sera were to ever get too far out of line. Although Josephine politely refused the offer, she still made sure to sit Vivienne next to the elf. A threat was oftentimes more effective than the actual action. 

The question posed by Sera had stopped the Comte from laying his hand on top of Cassandra’s, which would have been a ghastly mistake on his part. “It is _De Julien_ , my lady,” he corrected, making sure to accent it just right as the elf had butchered the pronunciation. He then side-eyed the Inquisitor to make sure that she heard the honorific he bestowed upon her brethren. 

“Oh right. Pardon you. It’s so hard to tell you all apart under those masks and whatnot. Anyways, I got a friend. I think she works for you or maybe knows someone who does.”

"I’m quite sure,” he said with that entitled air of indifference. “I employ a good number of your kind, my dear.” 

Sera raised an eyebrow. “My kind? You mean elfy, or just the poor little people that don’t have all the fancy silver coming out of their arseholes? I mean for you lot it’s all about who daddy or mommy slept with.”

The table had gone deathly still, except for Vivienne who put her fork down and dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “It’s ‘whom,’ darling,” she finally said before taking a sip of her wine. Vivienne didn’t really like Comte De Julien either. He was an insufferable, self-aggrandizing, braggart and she was certain he was throwing coin at the Inquisition, not because he believed in their cause, but rather he believed it would increase his standing in Orlais. He was such an amateur. 

Surprised, Sera blinked then gave the mage a knowing smile. “Thanks, Vivi. So hard to understand the whole subject versus object thing, innit? But whatever, because I don’t give a shite.” 

“Quite,” Comte De Julien said with a forced smile. “So my dear, See-” He was distracted from his sentence by Sera’s giggling. 

“Oh don’t mind me, my _Lord_. Was just thinkin’ about this funny little tale I heard from my friend. The one that knows you or someone like you. Word is that down in your neck of the woods there’s some Comte, surely not you, Comte Du Ham –”

“De Julien,” he said forcefully. 

“Right. That’s what I said.” She looked two chairs down to the Iron Bull. “Innit?”

Bull took a swig of his wine and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Josephine thought she might faint if he were to belch. “Yep,” he answered, winking at a lovely noble woman seated across the table. 

“Anyway,” Sera leaned across Vivienne, ignoring the mage's mumble of disdain, getting closer to the Comte so she could speak to him in a conspiratorial manner. “I hear he’s got quite the wicked habit, yeah? You know...one that involves a lot of special equipment.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the Comte blustered. 

“Oh cheeky one you are. I mean all you bigwigs hang out. You ain't got nothin' better to do than to sit around drinking wine made from golden grapes, and all that, wonderin' how your piss pots get so shiny. Am I right? Anyway, me, I've always been a curious sort. Maybe you could ask him how he gets one so large?" Sera put her hands up to indicate a rather large girth. "Like I heard it was this-"

“Yes!” Josephine stood from her seat. “It is time for dessert.” She waved for the servers to bring in the trays as she gave Sera a serious look of warning. Sera smiled and hoped dessert would include an assortment of cookies. 

Leliana, unable to stop herself, glanced at Cassandra who was hiding a smirk under her napkin. 

After dinner, Leliana and Cullen had finally been cornered by a few nobles and other guests. Leliana was charming them thoroughly, whilst Cullen was trying to appear somewhat interested by the whole affair. Vivienne coming to join the conversation was a perfect foil for Leliana to excuse herself. As she was about to make her escape, she saw out of the corner of her eye Josephine walking quickly toward her. “Excuse me, but I need steal Sister Nightingale away for just a moment,” Josephine said as she tugged at Leliana's arm. 

“Were you able to smooth things over with Comte De Julien?”

Josephine waved her hand as if to say it was nothing. “He will not be a problem, trust me.”

“Oh! Well is Cassandra about to be gently banished from the party? She has lasted a lot longer than I had imagined.” 

Josephine shook her head. “No. And that is the issue.” 

Casting an inquisitive look at Josephine, Leliana continued to follow the Ambassador. A few moments later, they were standing at the edge of the “dance floor.” Actually it was is the side room where Solas liked to study. Josephine had acquisitioned it for the evening to function as a ballroom - much to Solas’ dismay. 

“Who is that?” Leliana asked.

“Ser Darrow. He is a sworn to the Arl of Edgehall. ”

“Ah. I see,” Leliana said with narrowing eyes. Firstly, Cassandra was dancing. Secondly, she was dancing with a handsome knight. Thirdly, she looked as if she were enjoying it! All of which was very concerning to the Spymaster. She straightened her uniform and turned to leave. 

“Leliana!” Josephine cried. 

“What?”

Josephine looked at Leliana as if she sprouted wings from her back. She pointed at the dancing couple. “That!”

“Yes, there is dancing. I fail to see what is so urgent.”

“Ser Darrow is a cad,” Josephine tried to speak slower to help Leliana’s obvious comprehension problem. 

“Is that so? Well, Cassandra doesn’t look concerned at all.” 

“Leliana,” Josephine said in exasperation.

“Cassandra is a grown woman who is more than capable of taking care of herself.” 

“Yes with a sword.” She moved closer to the taller woman so that she may be more discreet. “You and I both know that Lady Pentaghast is not the most, how shall we say, worldly in matters of an amorous nature.”

Leliana could not argue with that. Cassandra was either painfully pragmatic or romanticized things to such a degree that no man could ever hope to live up to her ideal. Save but for one, and it was not that long ago that Leliana sought to comfort the Seeker as she mourned his death. That is why, scoundrel or not, if Cassandra was enjoying herself, Leliana was not about to interfere. And as she reluctantly noted, Cassandra did appear to be enjoying herself if the smile on her face was any indication. “Oh for the love of…Josie, I really have more important things to focus on.”

“I know you have plenty of agents about, Leliana. The Inquisitor is safe,” she whispered forcefully. “On the other hand, he has a reputation. Speaking of hands, look at where his are! Leliana I do not wish our Seeker to be so scandalized.”

Leliana looked at Josephine with a good amount of skepticism. The usually even-keeled Ambassador’s reaction to Cassandra’s dance partner seemed suspiciously dramatic. Cassandra wasn’t the only romantic in Skyhold. “Then why don’t you pull Cassandra away from Ser Darrow. You don’t need me to do it.”

The Ambassador sighed. “Because, we are in delicate trade negotiations with Edgehall. That is why Ser Darrow is here. Do you understand?”

“Josie,” Leliana warned.

“Oh my,” Dorian said as he sauntered up to the pair, oblivious to their conversation. “Who is that man dancing with Cassandra? He's almost as handsome as myself.”

“Ser Darrow,” they answered in unison. 

“And Cassandra is willingly dancing with him? Astonishing. I don’t think I have ever seen Cassandra dance. In fact, prior to this very moment, I could not even picture it in my mind’s eye. It’s like seeing a color for the first time. You don’t know what it is, until you see it.”

Leliana chuckled. It was true. She could count on one hand the number of times she had seen Cassandra dance, which was a shame really. The Seeker was surprisingly gifted in that area. 

“Leliana, I’m serious. He is a rake.”

“Oh, just my type then,” Dorian said with a grin. “Too bad he seems wholly invested in our Seeker. Well, I for one, think Cassandra might benefit from a good rake.” 

Leliana shot Dorian a look that made things clench unpleasantly. “A thousand apologies, Nightingale. I dare say I’ve had too much wine. Of course, Lady Pentaghast would never stoop to such base behavior. That would be utterly ridiculous,” he said, coughing nervously. 

Leliana rolled her eyes. “Josie, I don’t know what you expect me to do about it. Cassandra doesn’t look as if she is concerned by Ser Darrow nor would she expect me to swoop in to rescue her if she were. As I said, she is very –”

“I am imploring you, as an Agent of the Inquisition,” Josephine announced quite officially. “This matter is of diplomatic importance. I need to you get Ser Darrow away from Lady Pentaghast without causing a scene.”

“Oh no she didn’t,” Dorian muttered. 

“Oh yes she did,” Leliana muttered back. “Fine. But we will be discussing this later, Ambassador.” Taking a deep breath, she examined the dance floor. She could cause a distraction, oh no, Josie said no scenes. Okay, well maybe she could call in a few of her agents…

“Oh for pity’s sake. If I may have this dance, Sister Nightingale?” Dorian extended his hand and bowed at the waist. Upon noticing that his hand was still empty, he looked up from under his brow. “I swear to you, I have only the best intentions. I am here to help you; in the name of the Inquisition,” he said mightily and with great theatrical flourish. 

Leliana could not help the smirk that came to her lips. Dorian could be so bloody charming. “Fine,” she acquiesced. “But no –”

“Oh, dear lady; I like my man bits far too much to do something so foolish. Besides, no offense, I prefer a...certain type. Trust me.” 

"I know," Leliana said. "I was going to say, 'no dipping.'"

Dorian smiled. He liked their Spymaster. "No fear, dear lady. My back is still sore from my last excursion out with the Inquisitor, anyway." 

Then Leliana put her hand in his and in a gentlemanly fashion, he guided them onto the dance floor. They twirled around for a few moments as Dorian adroitly moved them into position. “This quartet isn’t half bad really, considering they were all patrolling the wall this morning. My, you are a lovely dancer.”

Keeping up appearances, Leliana ducked her head and smiled demurely. In Orlais, dancing was almost as much of a survival skill as learning to use a dagger. Considering how well Dorian was moving, she thought the same might be true for Tevinter. 

“Well look who we have here,” Dorian pronounced loudly. Cassandra looked rather surprised to see the two of them dancing together. “Leliana, would you say that our Seeker is simply radiant tonight?”

“I would,” Leliana said with a smile and honesty in her heart. 

“Oh yes. She is. Absolutely,” Darrow interjected causing Leliana’s jaw to clench. 

“Well aren’t you a charmer?” Dorian said with a wink. “I do regret having to butt in, but you really can’t keep such a specimen to yourself. May I?”

Ser Darrow tried to hide his displeasure with a smile, but unequivocally failed. “Of course.” He then looked at Leliana, and it was concerning to her that she had instantly felt as if she were being surveyed. “May I?” He asked. 

“Oh no, no,” Dorian said as he gently pushed Leliana toward Cassandra. “I meant with you, dear Sir. I really must know how you get your hair to do _that_.” And Dorian grabbed Ser Darrow before he could refuse, lavishly spinning him across the room. 

The Spymaster laughed and looked over at Cassandra. “I’m so sorry,” she apologized, trying to sound like she meant it.

Cassandra smiled. “Don’t be.” Then after a momentary pause, she extended her hand and bowed. “May I?” She supposed it was her turn to ask. 

Leliana laughed again, but when Cassandra kept her hand extended and raised a brow in challenge, Leliana understood that it wasn’t a joke. “You’re serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, I can think of several reasons, actually,” she replied, but she stepped into Cassandra’s arms anyway. “I’m assuming you would like to lead?”

“Why would you assume that?”

“I didn’t mean –”

“You have assumed correctly,” Cassandra interrupted Leliana with a cheeky grin on her face. 

“You know, if people knew what a sense of humor you have,” she said, softly stroking Cassandra’s arm before she realized what she was doing. She placed her hand back on the Seeker’s right shoulder, where she was determined to make it stay. “Anyway, you continue to surprise me, Seeker.”

“Good. You are not easy to surprise.” 

Leliana looked around the room and she could already see a few heads beginning to whisper. “We may cause a scandal. There was always rumors, you know?”

“Pfft,” Cassandra snorted. “I care little about rumors, Leliana. And I believe the Inquisitor has danced with almost everyone in the room. So between her and Dorian, we won’t even be an afterthought.”

Leliana seriously doubted the truth of that statement, but couldn’t find it in herself to care. She was mesmerized by Cassandra when she was like this – aggressive, bold…fearless. 

“You look lovely, by the way,” Cassandra remarked nonchalantly as she changed cadence with the music. 

“In this uniform?”

“In anything,” Cassandra offered with a lazy wink and smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. 

Sweet Andraste, how was Leliana supposed to deal with this if Cassandra continued to flirt without even realizing she was flirting! “Well,” she cleared her throat. “You look very…striking. That blue sash...the color suits you perfectly.”

“Thank you.”

“Ser Darrow seemed to think so too.” 

“Ugh,” Cassandra said with a shake of her head. “He thinks very highly of himself. It became tiring to listen to after a while. Do you know that he once saved several orphans from a burning hut?” Leliana’s head tilted back as she laughed, and her exposed neck caught the Seeker’s eye. With a critical eye, Cassandra decided that it was as close to perfect as she had ever seen. Then she thought about it no further. 

“Well, Seeker, that is quite a feat. Did you tell him about that time you saved a kitten from that horrible tree?”

Cassandra chuckled. “I did not. Perhaps next time.”

“Oh, will there be a next time?”

“Not if I can help it. I am glad Dorian came to my rescue.”

“It did not appear that you needed rescue,” Leliana retorted. “In fact, it looked as if you were thoroughly enjoying yourself. And I must say, your dancing is impeccable.”

“Don’t tease. It was all a ruse. A ploy to get away from the Comte. When at dinner, he informed me that he could not dance due to a particularly painful bout of gout, I then formulated my ingenious plan. Ser Darrow was a lesser of two evils. I feigned interest so that others would leave me alone. Simple. Had you been available sooner, Ser Darrow would not have been needed.” 

“I don’t know if I should be flattered or insulted. Am I being compared to narcissistic vassal?”

As the ballroom became more crowded, Cassandra had to pull Leliana closer. Their bodies were now separated by a hair’s breadth. “Do I appear to want to flee?” Cassandra asked in a lowered voice that seemed incredibly sultry to the Spymaster.

Leliana shook her head and smiled sweetly. “You do not.” 

“Then you should be flattered. Excuse me,” she said as they were bumped into from behind. “Does it seem extraordinarily crowded now?”

Leliana looked around. Indeed the ballroom was now filled, and much to her dismay several sets of eyes were on the pair. Reluctantly, she came to the conclusion that their dance should end. The idea of two woman dancing together was not something to be worried about. However, the fact that the two women had once been the Right and Left hands of the Divine and now were important advisors to the Inquisition could be. It was better to not tempt fate and make targets of one another. Enemies were always looking for weaknesses, and Leliana was afraid she had already exposed hers. “This dance, Cassandra, has been truly delightful,” she said with a hint of sadness. “Thank you.” She felt Cassandra’s hand squeeze hers.

“The music is still playing, Leliana.”

“It is, but I must see to…other things. And it’s been long enough that you could probably make your excuses and leave without much of a fuss.” 

Cassandra stopped abruptly. “Of course. Lady Montilyet must be very relieved that she did not need to manage me tonight.” 

Leliana did not bother correcting the Seeker. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“I will save our bottle of wine for another night, then?”

“I would like that.” Over Cassandra’s shoulders, she could see the Ser Darrow had successfully shaken off Dorian and was making his way back toward them. “Your knight is on the way.”

Cassandra moaned. “At least let me dance with you to the doorway, so that I may rapidly make my escape.” 

“Anything for you, Seeker.” Leliana was heartened to see the rise of color in Cassandra’s cheeks.


	3. Wine on the Ramparts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The slow burn continues...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holidays be crazy, y'all. I'll try to get another chapter up as soon as the merriment slows down. Thank you for all the kudos! They are much appreciated.

Motionless, Cassandra stood; a key in hand, poised to unlock the door to her room, yet it remained closed as Cassandra was lost deep in thought, her mind replaying the events of the evening. Surprisingly, not all of it had been unpleasant. The food was good and Sera’s antics with the Comte had been entertaining to say the least. Even Ser Darrow, though lacking any sort of humility, was mildly interesting. And he was an excellent means to avoid the Comte, even if it meant dancing. Cassandra never particularly enjoyed dancing. In the rare times that she had taken to the ballroom floor, it had been a formality endured. Even in more relaxed settings, such as a tavern or inn, and on occasions when the Inquisitor wanted to gather, Cassandra preferred to sit back and watch as her comrades took to song or dance. 

It started as a game to the Inquisitor. What would it take to get Seeker Pentaghast on her feet or at least humming a few bars of a ribald drinking song? Numerous times they had tried, too many to count really, but Cassandra’s stubbornness had a remarkable dependability and it was certainly more durable than the Inquisitor’s capricious attention span. No matter the tactic, she always managed to keep her posterior stubbornly planted in her chair and not one musical note had ever left her lips. After a time, they had all stopped trying and now the Inquisitor simply asked the Seeker to watch her drink as she took to the floor with a willing partner. With all things being relative, it was a task Cassandra had no trouble fulfilling. Her job was to watch and protect while the others could forget their troubles for a spell.

But tonight they had found out the answer to the aforementioned question: the key to getting Cassandra dancing was an annoying Comte, or a red-headed Spymaster. What perplexed Cassandra, and what had her simply staring at her door, was the realization that the best part of the evening had indeed been the dance with Leliana.

“Lady Seeker, is everything all right?”

Cassandra looked down the rampart. Several feet away, an Inquisition guard stood, one hand resting defensively on the hilt of his sword, a torch in the other. “Yes. Fine,” Cassandra said with a dismissive wave. “Carry on.”

The guard brought a fist up to his chest in salute before moving on with this rounds. Shaking her head, Cassandra slipped the key into the lock and entered her room. She did not get more than two steps before sensing something was amiss. Striking her flint, she lit the nearest wall sconce and its flickering flame dimly illuminated the small space before it. Upon her table, sat an unopened bottle of wine and a book that had not been there earlier. A smile graced her lips. Hastily, Cassandra lit another candle so she might see more clearly. Under the bottle was a neatly folded piece of parchment. It was stamped with a symbol recognizable to Cassandra: a winged bird, colored in red – a nightingale. Lifting the bottle from the note Cassandra released a grunt of satisfaction at the vintage. Honestly though, she wasn’t a connoisseur of wines even under the most liberal of definitions. She always trusted Leliana to choose as the ex-bard had extensive knowledge of such things.

As she lifted the note from the table a subtle, yet recognizable, fragrance teased her senses. Leliana had a habit of keeping her personal parchments in the same drawer as her scented oils. The note smelled like Leliana’s favorite flower, Andraste’s Grace. The delicate white wildflower, which only grew in Ferelden, was notoriously hard to find. And in fact, Cassandra only knew about the flower because she had found one pressed between the pages of Leliana’s well-worn copy of the Chant. On another occasion, when they had both traveled with Most Holy to Denerim, she had witnessed Leliana paying a fortune in Ferelden sovereigns for a small vial of oil. Later Cassandra went back to the herbalist’s stand, curious as to what could be so valuable. The oil, she found out, was scented with Andraste’s Grace. Although she had to admit the oil smelled quite pleasing, she still could find no worldly reason to spend that much on a fragrance! She had jokingly told Leliana that had she known the value in it, she would have gladly gone and collected the small flowers herself. 

“You have no idea,” Leliana had said with a waning smile and a distant look in her eye. It was then that Cassandra finally realized the significance of the flower. She said no more as Leliana placed the vial under the emblazoned sun of her Chantry armor. 

Now, holding the note close to the candle, Cassandra read the words written out in Leliana’s distinctive script: 

> Dearest Seeker,
> 
> It is said that one must be rewarded for good behavior. Therefore in honor of your exemplary feat tonight, and the fact the Comte still lives, I have bestowed to you one of Josephine’s favorite wines. It’s Antivan, so it’s quite fruity. I think you’ll like it. I had procured it for your “early release” even though, yes, it was your turn to provide the libations. Anyway, a shame to let it go to waste. 
> 
> Also in attendance tonight was an Antivan merchant, a waif of a gentlemen with an unfortunately thin mustache. I don’t think you had an occasion to speak with him as your time was monopolized by the Comte. However, Cullen so very kindly introduced me to this merchant – something that he will pay for later, mind you. But, I willingly admit, I was pleasantly surprised when I found out that he traded in books! And as luck would have it, within his possession the second volume of, _Her Lady’s Secrets_. I want you to know, dear friend, that I was able barter with this gentleman and he kindly traded me a copy for your enjoyment. The first volume ended in quite the cliffhanger!
> 
> Andraste certainly smiled upon you this night, as the merchant had not the least bit of interest in you – but you need not add one more to your legion of admirers -and instead fancied our Ambassador. He thinks she has a very keen mind, which indeed she does, and he was very eager to hear her thoughts on some sort of agreement he’s brokering with the Felicisima Armada. I know you don’t care, but it could be good for the Inquisition. Anyway, I’m quite sure Josie will have no issue sharing a cup of tea with this merchant on the morrow. As an aside, I also found out that the merchant has an encyclopedic knowledge of root vegetables. I told him that Ambassador Montilyet is also very interested in such things. Oh my how his face did light up. Josie will be absolutely riveted for a good hour or two. After all, a happy Seeker Pentaghast is good for the Inquisition and thusly our Ambassador must do her part, don’t you agree?
> 
> May you enjoy the fruits of your diplomatic labors with a glass of wine and a good, if not questionable, read. 
> 
> Leliana 
> 
> PS – Don’t mention the wine…or the root vegetables to Josie. 

Smiling, Cassandra folded the note neatly and tucked it into the pages of her newly acquired book, which she then placed under her pillow for good measure. Her mind made up, she grabbed two drinking cups and the bottle of wine. 

“Stay your dagger. Tis only I,” Cassandra huffed as she crested the ladder. 

Leliana kept her back to Cassandra but quietly sheathed the dagger at her forearm. “Of course. I heard you two floors down.”

Cassandra grunted in response as she finished the climb. Straightening, she surveyed her surroundings. Leliana was turned away from her, facing the vista and standing next to the battlements; her silhouette outlined by the light of the fullest moon they’d seen in an age. Cassandra joined her there, setting the wine and cups down by her feet. 

She watched as Leliana faced her, and that is when she saw the raven perched upon Leliana’s left forearm, its red eyes set upon the Seeker. With her other hand, Leliana pulled the covering from her head and Cassandra smiled as the wisps of hair around Leliana’s face fluttered about, buoyed by the chill air. She did like it when Leliana came out from under her cowl. 

“What’s this?” Leliana asked, pointing at the wine. 

“I hate to drink alone,” Cassandra replied with a shrug. “Or have you forgotten?” Leliana shook her head. “Then, I suppose, I have fallen into one of your traps. There is little else to do but open this bottle and share it.”

A small smile shaped the corners of Leliana’s heart-shaped mouth. “Are you such easy prey, Seeker? And how is it that you think I would set a trap way up here? This is not exactly a well-known spot.” That was definitely true. Repairs had not yet reached this portion of the fortress and few people had reason to venture atop this tower. Troubled, Leliana could not find sleep so she sought to find some peace and comfort amidst the mountain wind. The masons would work their way to the tower soon, and Leliana knew she would lose her haven of solitude. Until then, she would frequent it often. 

Cassandra looked around, this time expanding her vision past Leliana. There was debris everywhere, and part of the battlements had collapsed and she had definitely messed up her once pristine formal uniform. However, the stunning view and the way Leliana was smiling at her made the crawl through the rubble, and the smudges on her jacket, worth it. “That is why _you_ are the Spymaster. Do you wish me to leave?” Cassandra understood the need for quiet and would not have blinked twice if Leliana were to say yes. Although, she was hoping that would not be the case. 

Leliana shook her head. “If you were to leave then my devious plan would all be for naught, no? How did you find me?”

“Your favorite bird,” Cassandra confessed. As soon as Cassandra extended her own arm, the raven abandoned Leliana’s with a flutter of his wings and settled onto the Seeker’s arm. 

“Traitor!” Leliana’s astonished gasp caused Cassandra to chuckle. Leliana’s favorite, Baron Plucky, had a cantankerous reputation– much like, as Leliana’s suddenly realized, Cassandra. “Ah,” she said knowingly. “We have a matched pair.”

Cassandra cooed softly to the bird as she fumbled in her pocket with her other hand. “We have merely come to an agreement,” she said opening her hand to reveal a smattering of bird seed in her palm. “It is uncomplicated.”

 _But you are not_ , Leliana thought to herself. She watched in subdued awe as the raven finished his treat, pecking with an uncharacteristic softness at the small seeds within Cassandra’s hand. Leliana always felt an affinity with ravens, well with most animals really, but the black birds she found infinitely fascinating. They were smarter than some people, showing an amazing ability for problem solving, and sometimes better company too. 

Lifting her arm, Cassandra gently urged the bird to take flight. The breadth of his wings shimmered a glossy black in the moonlight. 

“You know, Baron Plucky does not let just anyone handle him.”

“Why do your people have such problems with him? All it takes is a bit of food.”

“Ha! As if they haven’t tried that all ready.” Leliana shook her head. “No. I believe there is more to it than that.”

“He is still just a bird, Leliana.” 

“And Schmooples is just a nug, but I have witnessed you calling him to your lap for a snuggle.”

“Gah,” Cassandra gestured dismissively at such a statement. “Hardly a snuggle. It was merely a way to keep tabs on that creature. Your nug is a menace.” 

Leliana smirked, but she knew differently. “You protest too much, Cassandra.”

“And you read too much into simple things,” Cassandra retorted, but the tease was exposed with a raise of an impish eyebrow. 

“Perhaps,” Leliana conceded, although she was trying very hard not to. 

Cassandra bent down to retrieve the bottle of wine. She held it up for Leliana to see. “Shall we?”

“We shall.”

“Get the cups and I’ll pour.”

Leliana nodded and held the cups steady as Cassandra poured the wine. “Not too much for yourself, you have to climb down those ladders, you know?”

Cassandra narrowed her eyes at Leliana’s playful taunt. There was one time that Cassandra had inadvertently indulged - if you could call having one ale indulging. How was she to know that certain Rivaini ales had a higher alcohol content than most hard liquors? _Casavir_ , Cassandra mentally cursed the name. If she ever saw him again, she would surely send him to the Void. 

Leliana had been with her on that unsuccessful trip to find Hawke’s supposed ex-lover, Isabella. When Casavir offered her the ale she ignored Leliana’s look of warning. That was a mistake. But the way he taunted her, so sure she wouldn’t accept the drink, like she couldn’t handle it. Usually Cassandra ignored such posturing, but they had been on the road for weeks on (what felt like) a wild goose chase. The Seeker had let her frustration and anger get the better of her. Who was he to taunt her? So smug and so glib. Cassandra had thought she had grown out of such prideful displays. If only. 

Leliana was sympathetic to a point. “I tried to warn you, Cassandra,” she said as the Seeker slumped in her saddle the following morning.

“Bah!” Cassandra spat. “I knew if you thought it was poisoned you would have batted the cup out of my hands.” 

“Such a ridiculous notion,” Leliana replied in that innocently blunt fashion of hers. “Casavir is loyal to Isabella, but he would not commit homicide for her.”

“I wish he would have,” the Seeker groaned.

Yes. Cassandra had learned her lesson. Now when Leliana gave her a look, she certainly did not ignore it. “I will never live that down, will I?”

Leliana took a sip of her wine and pretended to ponder the question. “Maybe when we are old and grey.”

“Well here’s to getting old and grey,” Cassandra said with a raise of the bottle.

“Hurry and pour the wine, Cassandra,” Leliana urged with a slight chuckle. “It’s freezing up here.”

“I’m sorry. Of course, we should leave.”

“No,” Leliana answered quickly, shaking her head. “I'm fine. Besides, the company is too good to part with.” She could see the gleam of Cassandra’s white teeth and she felt warmed by causing such a reaction.

“I suppose, if you have tricked me with a Rivaini ale instead of a fruity wine, I can always just bunk up here. The view of the stars are very lovely.”

“Hmm they are, aren’t they,” Leliana replied as she looked up at the twinkling stars. There were so many, stretching as far as they could see. “The Maker’s light is all around us.”

“It is, yes,” Cassandra said quietly. 

Leliana had looked over at Cassandra expecting that the Seeker was also looking at the stars, but she was not, and their eyes fell on one another. It was then, Leliana knew that their relationship was no longer simple or straightforward. In fact, it had become immensely muddled. “Cassandra…you…" Leliana knew she should be brave and end such notions immediately, but she faltered. The Seeker was looking at her so expectantly but there was confusion there too. "You’ll freeze.”

A flutter of surprise crossed Cassandra face, but then she laughed. “Then you’ll just have to carry me down.”

Leliana looked askance at Cassandra. The woman was solid muscle and slightly taller than her, but the thought of holding Cassandra’s sturdy weight had an undeniable appeal. “I might be able, now that you’re out of that heavy gambeson and armor you always wear.”

Cassandra grinned then walked over to the ladder, looking down the length of it. “It’s a long drop. No doubt you are stronger than you appear, but you are right, let’s not chance it. Half only.” 

“Chicken,” Leliana taunted, flapping her arms and making herself look ridiculous in the process.

Indeed, Cassandra thought, if the eyes of Skyhold could see Leliana now, they would have little to fear. She shook her head. “Practical. The Inquisitor wants to depart soon. A broken or twisted appendage might make the trip out of Skyhold difficult. Better that I can walk out of this fortress than to be carried by Bull.”

“Or you could stay. Surely the Inquisitor could spare you for one trip?” Leliana realized that the idea was ludicrous. The Inquisitor _always_ took Cassandra on missions and Leliana could not blame her. Nor would Cassandra stay behind. Leliana knew that the Seeker considered it her sworn duty to ride next to the Inquisitor, whether the mage wanted her to or not. It was rather fortunate, then, that they seemed to get along quite well. 

And as expected, Cassandra did not reply to Leliana’s suggestion, but simply ignored it all together. Leliana sighed and sipped her wine. It was silly to suggest it out loud. “How do you like the wine?”

“It’s nice. Sweet.”

“Yes. More of a dessert wine. Josie keeps it for special occasions.” Hopefully, the Ambassador wouldn’t notice the missing bottle before Leliana could get it replaced. 

“Hmm,” Cassandra replied. “I wish I had developed more of a palate for wines. When I was young I would watch nobility fawn over such silly things, material objects...possessions, including wines. I, of course, rejected it immediately as I thought most nobles were idiots.”

“You still do,” Leliana murmured into her cup.

Cassandra smirked but continued on, “Then when I started my training…”

“No, I suppose there wasn’t much wine tasting as a young templar.”

“No,” Cassandra replied with a chuckle. “But I appreciate it more now, thanks to you. It is nice to share a bottle from time to time,” she said raising her cup toward Leliana. Who did the same.

“I am pleased that I was able to _culture_ you in some way, Lady Seeker,” she teased. “As far as being a connoisseur, it doesn’t matter what others may think as long as you like it. But if you wish to develop a palate, as you say, there is always time.”

“Is there? Sometimes I wonder.”

The sudden seriousness of Cassandra’s tone caught the Spymaster off guard, which wasn’t unusual these days when it came to her dealings with the Seeker. She wasn’t sure how to respond so she did not, but silently hoped that yes, there would always be more time. Cassandra cleared her throat as if embarrassed and leaned a hip against the battlement. They said nothing further for several moments. It was not unusual for there to be prolonged silences between the two of them, having worked alongside one another for so long. But this one seemed strained. So much so that Leliana could not bear the silence for one second longer. 

“Where are you off to this time?” At the war table yesterday they had discussed several possible missions, but the Inquisitor had yet to pick one. “Hopefully not the Hinterlands.”

“No. Thank the Maker,” Cassandra replied quickly as if she too were relieved to break the silence. “If I never see the Hinterlands again, I will be quite pleased.” 

This was a sentiment shared by most to the Inquisitor’s inner circle as they had spent a great amount of time in the Hinterlands. The mage-templar conflict seemed to burn hottest there, for a while, creating a huge amount of strife for the local populations. And beyond that, there were agents to secure and many rifts to close. Unfortunately with Redcliffe being situated in the Hinterlands, Leliana knew that Cassandra would indeed be visiting the region again. “Where then?”

“Crestwood.” 

“Ah. The Grey Warden.”

“Yes, Hawke’s friend.” Cassandra said it like it left a bad taste in her mouth. 

“Cassandra,” Leliana scolded.

“What?”

“You must stop being mad at her and Varric.” Leliana had not been present when Cassandra found out that Hawke was in Skyhold, but she had rightly guessed her reaction. Luckily the Inquisitor had been close by to diffuse the situation and Varric had escaped unscathed, if not a bit more contrite.

“Why?”

“Because it no longer matters, Cassandra.”

“Varric knew-”

“Yes he did. But can you blame Hawke for fearing an Exalted March? She did not know Most Holy like you or I. And if most of her history with the Chantry revolved around Grand Cleric Elthina and Knight-Commander Meredith…well, I cannot say that I blame her for doing what she did; nor can I blame Varric for protecting his friend. If I were in his position and it were you in hiding, I would do no less.”

Cassandra downed her wine then petulantly crossed her arms. “It was…annoying.” 

“Succinctly said,” Leliana with ill-disguised sarcasm.

“Ugh. I suppose you’re right. Hopefully this Grey Warden will have information on Corypheus. That is the important thing.” She held out her cup. When Leliana shook her head, Cassandra almost stomped her foot. “Oh for Andraste’s sake! Surely I can handle the total of one cup of wine, Leliana.” 

“Fine,” Leliana said, trying not to show amusement at Cassandra’s small tantrum. “Seriously though, that is all. You are such a lightweight, and all jokes aside, I don’t want to attempt getting you down those ladders in an inebriated state.”

“I know,” Cassandra pouted. “It’s just…this is nice…”

Leliana could not help but smile, reaching out to help hold Cassandra’s cup steady while she poured a bit more wine into it. “How long will you be gone?” 

“Depends. I think we shall be gone for more than a fortnight, possibly two. After the business of the Grey Warden, we’re going to secure Caer Bronach.”

“Good. That will be a strategic post for the Inquisition.”

“Indeed.”

Leliana looked at Cassandra, the warrior's features still stark and powerful under the glow of the moon. They stared at each other for a few short moments, then Cassandra’s head tilted ever so slightly. That, Leliana knew, was a sign of an idea forming in the Seeker’s mind. “Why don’t you come with?” Cassandra asked. “It has been ages since you’ve been outside of these walls for more than a few days.”

Leliana contemplated it for second, as the idea was appealing in so many ways. To see Cassandra in her element again, was a very big one. Leliana’s shoulders sank when she decided that she could not. One of her most trusted agents was due to arrive in the next few days with information potentially significant to the Inquisition. It was her duty to receive it and parse its meaning. She shook her head. “Tempting, but I cannot. I have spies to coordinate, as you know.”

Cassandra’s smirk hid her disappointment. “Does our Spymaster have such a stable of nitwits that she cannot trust them to operate on their own for a few weeks?”

“You know that is not the case.”

Cassandra turned the cup in her hand. “I know,” she grumbled, feeling ashamed at her petulance. “My apologies. Please do not think less of me if I admit to missing the days when we would ride out together.” Then she looked at Leliana with what could only be described as longing. “It felt…right.”

Leliana stood, her heart fluttering at such words and actions. Cassandra was never reluctant to expose her feelings on their friendship, but it still seemed so strange coming from a woman who rarely expressed emotion, save anger, to anyone else. “I miss those days too. But now you ride out with the Inquisitor. You two are also very close. That is not so bad, yes?” 

“No,” Cassandra said with a shake of her head. “It is true. I am thankful that she and I can call each other friends. We have forged a bond this past year. I suppose it was inevitable when it seems most of Thedas wishes to pulverize you. But…she is not you. It's not the same.”

Leliana was glad that the dim light hid the flush of her cheeks. “If people knew what a softie you are, Cassandra Pentaghast, your reputation of our righteous, but fearsome, Seeker could be ruined,” Leliana joked. 

“Gah,” Cassandra sneered and Leliana laughed at the return of the Cassandra all of Skyhold knew. “I do what must be done, and that is often unpopular. I have no worries of my reputation being sullied by tales of my…softness.” 

“Then it will be another one of our secrets.” 

“You are our Spymaster, after all. I’m sure you know all my secrets already.” The Seeker smiled and it was almost too much for Leliana. If she weren’t careful, soon she’d be spilling some secrets of her own.


	4. Conversations Within and Without

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays!

Inquisitor Lavellan looked over at Cassandra for probably the hundredth time since they rode out of Skyhold that morning. The air was biting as the year was cresting toward Wintersend and puffs of air could be seen curling out of their mouths and noses. Cassandra was considerably more stoic than usual, nary saying a word as the miles disappeared underneath their charger’s hooves. The squeaking sound of a well-worn saddle drew her gaze to Dorian, who rode at her left. With a deliberate raise of an eyebrow, he leaned forward to look over at Cassandra, who rode at the Inquisitor’s right. The steely gaze of the Seeker seemed as resolute as a needle on a compass – her eyes remaining fixed on an unknown spot in the distance. Dorian’s shoulders rose and fell with a sigh as he righted himself on his steed, giving the Inquisitor a shrug before urging his Imperial Warmblood, “Bambi,” to trot. The Inquisitor considered it such an odd name for the magnificent beast, but he was Dorian’s to name and that was what he chose. 

It was the Inquisitor’s turn to lament as she resisted the urge to glance at Cassandra…again. She watched as Dorian rode up alongside Varric, they exchanged a few words before quickening their pace, distancing themselves from the two women. She couldn’t blame them. A conversation, pleasant or otherwise, would be welcomed right about now. Behind them, several yards, Blackwall rode at a lazy gait, already separating himself from the group and seemingly content with that decision. That left the Inquisitor and Cassandra riding together in a stifling silence, which Lavellan did not understand but somehow knew she shouldn’t interrupt. It was if they were all afraid to speak, so quiet had Cassandra become and seemingly lost in her own mind. They were wary to pull her out, lest they face her ill-tempered wrath. Cassandra could be quite churlish, which was amusing most of the time, especially when you were expecting it, but could be a bit unnerving if you weren’t. 

The Inquisitor figured the day had started well enough. They had all met at dawn in the stables, puffy-eyed but infused with that combination of excitement and pensiveness that came along with the knowledge that you were about to embark on an adventure. A particularly acute feeling when the adventure could ultimately end in all their deaths. Lavellan supposed that it was best not to dwell on the dying part. This time she had decided to take with her Cassandra (because always Cassandra), Varric (because he is Hawke’s friend), Blackwall (because he is a Grey Warden) and Dorian (because he asked and because Lavellan thought he was quite amusing). It was a formidable group, as all her inner-circle were, and she herself would not wish to meet them in a dark alley. 

Blackwall had prepared a giant pot of tea for them to share as they saddled their horses and packed their gear. Cassandra even smiled a time or two as she pulled the whetstone along her blade. Being the most efficient of the bunch, she had already organized her trail pack and was relaxing by the fire as the others continued their preparations. Cullen strode in, as if he’d been awake for hours, to have a few words with her, making sure he was clear on the plans and contingencies. Then he sat next to Cassandra and they chatted quietly. Cassandra had recruited Cullen, directly from Kirkwall, to join the Inquisition and it was quite obvious that they respected one another greatly. Josephine was next, carrying several rolled parchments that she tucked in the Inquisitor’s bag with instructions of where and whom to give them. She also gave Lavellan a letter of a personal nature that the Inquisitor would read in the absence of prying eyes. The cook’s assistants came in, as scheduled, carrying bags of provisions and a tray of rolls so that they may break their fasts. 

Eventually most of the inner circle came through the stables: Sera moseyed in, rummaging through their gear, telling them not get poked in the rears, then giggling as she moseyed back out; Bull, who was much too raucous for the hour, gave them each a small flask of, what was surely, a horrid-tasting chest-hair inducing spirit; Solas came and gave Lavellan a map of where they might locate some Elven artifacts; and Cole appeared seemingly out of nowhere to promptly follow Cassandra around before she told him, with a surprising tenderness, to stop reading her mind. 

As the time of their departure drew near, Cassandra’s mood began to change. Her eye’s locked on the wide stable doors and each time someone came in to wish them well, her frown deepened. The last to see them leave was Vivienne, who did not set one perfect foot into the stables, but simply stood at her balcony. There wasn’t a gesture of adieu from her as they rode toward the gates, she simply watched them in that unflappably aloof, but concerned, way of hers. As they finally passed through the fortress gates, it seemed as if everyone had made an appearance – except for their Spymaster. 

To the Inquisitor, this didn’t seem to be that big of a deal. Albeit rare for her not to show, Leliana’s absence wasn’t something to be worried about, particularly when a few ravens could be seen soaring over Skyhold. But yes, most of the time, Leliana would see them away. More often than not, she would be that last to make an appearance. The Inquisition’s Spymaster, sweeping in on feathery steps with her face mostly hidden by that sinister-looking cowl of hers. Her words to each of them, however, were a stark contrast to her appearance. In fact, the Inquisitor always felt buoyed by the kindness of Leliana’s farewells, like she were giving them each a personal benediction for their journeys. 

_Without fail_ , Leliana would save her last words for Cassandra. Lavellan had never heard what was said between the two of them as they had an adept habit of working their way out of earshot, nor did she ever try. No one ever questioned what sort of bond they must share, once standing as opposite Hands of the Divine. How long have they had to lean on one another, to trust, to offer comfort, to debate, to provide reason, and to be the barometer for the other? Of course they would have a closeness…an intimacy.

The body language was the most telling. Cassandra always with her arms crossed and Leliana moving ever so closer into the Seeker’s personal space. They would always end up so intent on one another that neither of them would realize that Leliana’s hand would be resting familiarly on Cassandra’s forearm. Then there would be a nod and a quiet laugh before Leliana would turn to leave, her hand lingering until her arm, outstretched, would finally run out of length. Cassandra’s eyes would follow the Spymaster until she was out of sight. All the while, a slight (some might even say, wistful) smile gracing her features. Leliana, it seemed, had the unique skill of drawing a lightness out of the most serious Seeker the Inquisitor had ever met – not counting the Lord Seeker who seemed more than a little crazy. 

If asked, the Inquisitor would have to admit that their relationship did make her a little jealous. She was surely not the first to experience a sudden infatuation with Cassandra, nor would she be the last. A shameless flirt anyway, Lavellan had laid it on pretty thick. Cassandra shut it down quickly, not with words, but with a failure to react. It was embarrassingly obvious that Cassandra had not one inkling of a sexual attraction toward her. So, the Inquisitor tucked away her crush and moved on. She was never one to pine or wish for a change of winds. Life, she knew, was simply too short. Besides, as she spent more time with Cassandra, it became very clear to her that a romantic relationship with the Seeker would be…difficult. Yes, Cassandra was honorable, kind, brave and physically stunning; but she was also bull-headed, blunt, righteous, brooding and much too quick to anger. In short, she held all the characteristics that would drive Lavellan absolutely mad in a relationship. So in that sense, and besides the fact that Cassandra was not the least bit interested, they were completely incompatible. On the other hand the Inquisitor knew she had, in good fortune, acquired a lifelong friend. 

But now, as she side-eyed Cassandra, the Inquisitor wondered at Cassandra’s inclinations. At first, it appeared the Seeker was simply not interested in women. But when she really thought about it, Cassandra didn’t seem to take an interest in men either. Not that the current climate of things were really conducive to romance, or the thought thereof. But often it was the worst of times that brought out the best. It certainly wasn’t stopping her from trying to court a certain Antivan. The Inquisitor smiled at the thought. How does one describe that pleasant feeling a budding romance has a tendency to create within?

A cough at her right, brought the Inquisitor back to the subject of Cassandra. Grumpy, gloomy Seeker Pentaghast. _Poopyghast_ , she thought to herself, almost making herself erupt in a fit of giggles. She didn’t even have Sera to blame for such childishness. With a shake of her head, she figured the miles must be getting to her. Or Cassandra’s mood. One of the two. Or both. It wasn’t their blasted fault that Leliana didn’t show up this morning! 

Lavellan suddenly straightened in her saddle. Of course! For Andraste’s sake why hadn’t she seen this sooner? Cassandra wasn’t interested in _anyone_ , but she was interested in someone. She’d swear on Fenharel’s pearly teeth that this is what’s causing Cassandra’s Maker-forsaken mood. 

She looked around; Dorian and Varric had ridden even further ahead and Blackwall was but a speck behind them. Maybe this was a good time…

“No,” Cassandra said, her body swaying side-side in her saddle. 

“What?” the Inquisitor said with a confused frown.

“I do not want to talk about it.” 

“I wasn’t going to ask.”

“Yes. You were,” the Seeker stated, her eyes remained straight-ahead.

“No, I wasn’t,” the Inquisitor sputtered. 

“Fine. My mistake,” Cassandra replied. Her jaw going back to its locked position.

Yes, of course, Lavellan was going to ask that very question but sometimes Cassandra was so infuriating and, quite frankly, she was done assuaging the Seeker’s attitude. It was simply ridiculous to be so affected by Cassandra’s mood that they were all too nervous to joke or tease or even carry out a simple conversation! And besides, she was the Inquisitor and that had to count for something. Lavellan abruptly pulled up on her hart’s reins. “Lunch!” She whistled at Varric and Dorian, in case they didn’t hear her loud proclamation. 

Cassandra quickly assessed their surroundings. “This is not a good place to stop,” she grumbled, pointing at the surrounding hills. “The line of sight is too short.” All that was missing from the sentence was the word, “idiot,” but her tone so clearly said it for her. 

“I don’t care,” Lavellan said with a shake of her head. “We’ve been riding for hours. My arse is sore, my clothes are damp, and my stomach is grumbling. And maybe, just maybe, a few bandits to pummel will lighten your blighted disposition!”

“Perhaps,” Cassandra said dryly, apparently unconcerned by the Inquisitor’s outburst. Turning her mount in a quick circle, Cassandra looked for a place to dismount. She wasn’t the best equestrian, but she looked as if she were, dismounting with the grace of a reluctant noble. That is, until her booted feet landed upon ground that was much wetter than it appeared and she stumbled, barely catching herself before her face hit the mud. She caught the Inquisitor smirking at her expense before the elf quickly turned away, busying herself with her saddle bags. Cassandra gave her a soundless sneer then led her horse to a tree, to which she secured the reins. She fished a sugar cube from her pocket, letting the horse’s nose nuzzle her hand as its lips searched for the sweet treat. She patted the steed’s neck, appreciating its _quiet_ companionship. 

“Lucky horse,” Lavellan grumbled under her breath as she walked past. 

Cassandra ignored her, instead tilting her head toward the sky. They had ridden out from the high country, the snow giving way to a lush but soggy undergrowth, and the skies above threatened another rain storm. She shrugged off her oilskin cloak, giving it a good shake, before throwing it back over her shoulders. The others joined them, seemingly happy to have a break. Cassandra at least had the good grace to nod appreciatively as she sat on a log near the small fire Blackwall had hastily started. 

Pulling off her gloves, Cassandra began to rummage through the small bag she kept her sundries in. She pulled out some dried meat and hard cheese but there was also some hardtack in there somewhere. Sticking her hand into the bag, searching by feel for the biscuits, she instead felt a smooth round object. It felt suspiciously like an apple even though she did not she remember placing one in there. A surprised grin transformed her face when she saw that is indeed what it was. 

Carefully placing it on the log, so she could set aside her bag, she then she picked it up again, finding a clean spot on her clothing to rub the apple free of smudges and crumbs. Satisfied that with the shine, Cassandra then took her knife to it, cutting it into neat wedges.

“Hey Seeker, what kind of apple is that?” Varric asked from across the fire.

Cassandra’s kohl-lined eyes narrowed to mere slits. Although their relationship had improved greatly, their conversations weren’t what normal people would call, “civil.” Verbal sparring matches was probably a more apt description. “Why?” She asked with a great deal of suspicion.

“It’s just an innocent question,” Varric replied with an amused chuckle. 

“There are no innocent questions where you are concerned, Varric.”

“Asking about the variety of an apple now raises suspicion? You need a vacation, Seeker.”

Cassandra sighed as she combined a slice of apple with some cheese and shoved it into her mouth. “I know not the variety,” she said around a mouthful. “Nor do I care. It is green.” For Cassandra, there was either, meat, vegetable or bread. Knowing things like the variety of an apple was worthless minutia. Food was sustenance and if it tasted good, then that was just a bonus. 

Varric shrugged. “Hmm. Seemed as if that simple little ol’ apple had quite an effect on you. Might try to find a bushel for myself. Never hurts having something to soothe a wild beast,” he said with a grin.

“Ain’t that the truth,” Inquisitor Lavellan laughed, reaching over to fist-bump Varric.

Cassandra rolled her eyes, but could not help but the smirk that teased at her mouth. Even Varric could not dampen her lifting mood this time. 

Back at Skyhold Josephine sat behind her desk, quill busy in her hand. Two knocks at the door then a second later Leliana entered the room, hands folded neatly behind her back. Looking up at her visitor, Josephine quickly set her work aside, regarding her friend seriously. “Ah. There you are.”

Leliana gave her friend a curious chuckle. “Of course, here I am. Your runner said it was urgent.” 

“Well, not exactly,” Josephine confessed. “But I know how you get.”

“What does that mean?” Leliana asked as she settled a shoulder against Josephine’s book case. 

“It simply means, that you get swept up in your work and I didn’t want to get pushed down to the bottom of the list.”

Leliana clucked her tongue. “Mon ami, you are never at the bottom of my list.”

Josephine fluttered her eyelashes in jest. “You are too kind, Sister Nightingale.” They both giggled. “Come let us have some tea. Please,” she insisted when it appeared that Leliana was about to balk. “It is late afternoon and I know you’ve been up since before dawn. It won’t hurt you to take a few moments.”

“Very well,” Leliana acquiesced. “What is it that you wish to speak to me about?” 

Josephine shook her head. “One moment,” she stalled, reaching into one of her desk drawers. With a smile she presented a brightly-colored tin.

“Are those what I think they are?” Leliana asked. Josephine nodded, an excited but secret smile upon her face. Leliana gaped in surprise. “How did you get those? I have to bribe Mistress Bolgier for a handful and it costs me a crown each time.”

“How is it that the chef is the only one in this fortress that you must bribe, while the rest of us do your bidding at will?”

“Have you seen Mistress Bolgier?”

Josephine covered her mouth. “Oh my. Quite right. Anyway, I helped her with a rather delicate matter that I really mustn't talk about.” 

“Her cousin?”

“Leliana!” Of course Leliana would know. She knows everything.

Leliana walked over to Josephine’s sitting area, the fire was already stoked and radiating a comforting warmth. “Come, Josie. I’m afraid I don’t have long. Ravens are due into the rookery soon.”

“Oh. So they did not come in the morning?” Josephine asked as she settled in the chair, folding her skirts neatly about her. She placed the tin of cookies between them.

“No.” 

“Were you ill, then?”

Leliana frowned at her friend. “Nooo,” she said with a growing suspicion. 

“Oh.”

“Oh?” 

Josephine nodded toward the fire. “The water, Leliana.”

The Spymaster narrowed her eyes at the Ambassador, but did as she was told. Josie was dissembling. She reached for the pot near the fire, checking first to see if it were hot, then placed it on the table between them. Josephine, gathered her box of teas, and perused them as if they had all the time in the world. “Hmm, how about a light herbal tea, nothing too fruity…maybe something with a floral flavor –”

“How about that Ferelden nettle tea?” Leliana smiled sweetly, knowing that Josephine had a strong dislike for it. Josephine just smiled, unperturbed as she picked some leaves and put them in the pot to steep. “Josie, why did you ask if I were ill this morning?”

“You do realize that the Inquisitor rode out this morning?”

Leliana looked at Josephine as if she had suddenly gained another head. “Of course.”

“Oh.”

“N’importe quoi, Josie. Ask if you must.” Leliana wasn’t in the mood to draw this out, but her tone remained affable.

“Why didn’t you come to the stables?”

“I didn’t realize my presence was required. But I had correspondence to finish,” she answered, pouring a cup of tea and offering it to the Ambassador. 

Josephine took the tea, a stern look on her face. “It just seemed…well, Cassandra seemed rather disappointed.”

Leliana looked down at her lap, picking at some imaginary lint. “She did? Because I wasn’t there?”

Josie rolled her eyes. Maker save her from formidable yet clueless women. “Goodness,” she huffed. “Of course, she was disappointed. Is it too much to ask that her closest friend make her way to the stables to say her farewells? I know that everyone thinks that Cassandra is this…this woman made of stone, but that could not be further from the truth. You know that better than anyone.” 

Josephine looked at Leliana for a long while expecting her to say something but Leliana remained silent, sipping her tea and nibbling on a cookie. Leliana would not tell her that, although she had tried, she was not able to completely ignore Cassandra’s departure. Scout Ritts had looked at her quite strangely when she set the apple in front of her with very specific instructions. A hopeless sigh stole from her lips unnoticed. 

Exasperated, Josephine placed her teacup on the table, the fine porcelain rattling on the plate. She was no longer concerned about hiding her irritation with the Spymaster. In the time she had been with the Inquisition, Josephine’s admiration for the Seeker had grown into an affection one might show toward a sibling. A sibling who was gruff, and often acted as if they didn’t want you around but would inexplicably be there when you needed them. Yes, Leliana was her friend but that didn’t excuse her from this callous behavior. If she could do one thing for Cassandra, a woman who has done much for everyone else, it was scold Leliana in her absence. “You have nothing to say about that, Leliana? Everyone could see it on her face, which I’m sure just absolutely mortified Cassandra to no end.” 

“I did not realize Cassandra required such a Champion.” 

“When the one she wants won’t step up, then I suppose others must claim that mantle.” Leliana could not hide all her emotions from Josephine, and the Ambassador could sense her comment had stung. 

“All this, because I failed to say goodbye? I assure you, Josie, you are making more out of this than Cas-” 

“No,” Josephine interrupted. “You may wish to play it off, but don’t.” She leaned toward Leliana, wanting to drive her point home. “She has known _you_ the longest, and you have a bond of service whose depth we may never share. Have you no care that she receives comfort from your presence?” 

“Cassandra doesn’t need me.”

“Brasca!” Josephine cursed. Had the conversation not been so weighty, Leliana might have been amused by Josephine’s use of such profanity…a low-brow Antivan curse, at that. Josephine shook her head. “Yes she does. Although at the moment, I’m sure she’s wishing otherwise.” Her brown eyes widened when Leliana shot to her feet. Instinctively, Josephine also came to her feet, her skirts rustling with the sudden movement. 

“I’m sure she is,” Leliana muttered. She rested a hand on the fireplace mantle, staring intently into the crackling flames.

“Oh dear,” Josephine began quietly. “You’d think as someone trained in words, I wouldn’t tie my own tongue. That wasn’t fair, what I said. But Leliana…every time they leave these walls, there is a chance they won’t return. I know how you’d feel if…if…”

Leliana slapped at the mantle. “You think I do not know such things!” Josephine stepped back, startling once again at the reaction of her usually calm friend. “I know that, Josie. Maker help me, I know all too well!” Leliana put her head in her hands.

Momentarily stunned, Josephine stood as still as a statue. She had never seen Leliana so much as shed one tear but By the Lady, was she weeping here, right in front of her? Cautiously reaching out, Josie approached her, placing a comforting hand on Leliana’s lower back. “Forgive me, my friend. Forgive me for being so thick-headed. You know. Of course you do. It was such a thoughtless thing for me to say. I…I overreacted.” 

Leliana shook her head, her hands curling into fists as she brought them back down to her sides. Her eyes were dry, but she was distraught just the same. “Oh Josie, I feel so ashamed.”

“Why?” Josephine asked gently, as if she were talking to a skittish child. 

“Take your pick,” she said ruefully. 

“I don’t understand.”

Leliana sighed deeply. “It’s fine, Josie. It’s fine. You’re right. It was selfish of me to…it was just selfish.” Leliana hung her head. “I do not know how I let this get away from me. So long Cassandra and I have been merely acquaintances only to slowly work our way toward friendship. By the Maker she still drives me mad. Sometimes I just want to…” she made a shaking motion with her fist, but then she relaxed it, and chuckled lightly. “The feeling is mutual, I’m sure.” Leliana looked at Josephine, a sad smile on her face. “You know, when we first started with Divine Justinia, I don’t think Cassandra liked me at all. I was someone to be tolerated. I was considered a…duty.”

“That can’t be,” Josephine began to say, but Leliana raised an eyebrow challenging Josephine to argue. The Ambassador pursed her lips stubbornly. “Well, of course, Cassandra can take a while to warm up to people, but I honestly think she would have looked on you a bit more graciously than that. A colleague perhaps?” 

“Oh there was respect, of that I’m sure. But our paths rarely crossed in the beginning. When we conferred with Most Holy, we hardly exchanged two words outside of her presence. That suited me just fine, you know?” Josephine nodded. Knowing Leliana’s history, she could imagine that Leliana was in a very fragile place, emotionally. 

“But then Her Holiness started sending us out together, or she would pull me in to ride cavalcade or some such thing. Of course, we argued; all of us. I thought my role as her Left Hand was to stay in the shadows. And it was Cassandra's role to be present at her side. She was to take the knife strike, but it was my job to prevent it. Divine Justinia...," Leliana said, but then paused, getting lost in the memories and regret. 

"Leliana?"

“Yes. Sort of like now, I suppose." Leliana did not look at Josephine, but continued on with her story. "Cassandra and I tried to convince her that having both Hands together posed a security risk, but she did not seem concerned. Strange.” Leliana shook her head. “We were so different then, but time changes us all and I think we’ve become similar or, now, at least, we understand one another. Somehow, we have formed this precious friendship and then…and then one day it felt different.” She looked at Josephine with what could only be described as a tinge of fear in her eyes. “But if I could stop these feelings, I would.”

“No, no,” Josephine said lightly gripping the Spymaster’s arm. “Don’t be afraid. Some people never love once, but you have had the fortune to love three times.”

“Bah! I have said nothing of love, Josie.”

“There is no need for you to say it. It is there.”

Leliana shrugged out of Josephine’s touch. “For Andraste's sake…Josie, please.”

“Leliana not in a thousand ages, would I ever call you coward. I have seen you run into danger as at Haven when I would have surely died, if not for you.” Leliana looked away not wanting to think on the unpleasant memory. “But I know of only one thing that you truly fear. And you are running now, Leliana.” Josephine tilted her head so she could look past Leliana’s cowl to see her eyes. “Perhaps it is the Maker’s -”

“No!” Leliana turned from Josephine. With agitated steps she created distance between herself and the Ambassador. “Do not dare use my faith against me!”

“Leliana, I did not mean…”

“You meant precisely that. Your words always have intention.”

Josephine rubbed at her brow. “Yes, of course.”

“What is this with the Inquisitor?” 

Josephine looked confused. “I, I do not know,” Josephine replied honestly. 

“A mere flirtation? An infatuation? Love?”

“Flirtation, yes, perhaps more.”

“Have you loved before, Josie? Romantically?”

“You know I haven’t.”

“Then how would you know, Josie? How would you know to consider love ‘fortunate’? It is nothing more than a fool’s game that takes more than it ever gives! I have had love take scores of my flesh, you have seen the scars! Yes. I have loved many times and I have grieved just as many for friends and for lovers and for one love so great that I could hardly bear it when it was taken away. The _Maker_ has taken her…them away from me. All of them. I have so few people left Josephine…people I cherish.” She looked at the Ambassador meaningfully. “And now am I to give my heart to a woman who rides at the Herald's side, slays dragons and demons and who, without a moment's thought, would willingly throw herself in front of a sword if it meant saving a person she considered a friend?” Leliana stumbled at the thought. Josephine rushed forward only to be halted by Leliana’s hand. “No. I do not think I could live if I were to give myself over Cassandra only to find she would never return to me again.”

“What’s different now?” Josie asked.

Leliana sighed. “What do you mean?” 

“You already love her, Leliana.”

“Josie I do not want to talk any more of this. You mean well, but such notions are –” 

“They are not, Leliana; and you know it. Saying so doesn’t make it true. Despite your defenses, your heart has already opened and Cassandra has walked right in. And I believe, no I know, it is the same for her.” 

Leliana pursed her lips and angrily strode toward the door. With a tense shoulders she flung the door open, escaping Josephine’s office without sparing a glance backward, but not before Josephine heard this sentence escape her lips: “And how will I, once more, make peace with the Maker when he takes her away from me too?”


	5. The One with the Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra kicks some ass and gets a head injury (luckily she has a really hard head). And Leliana has a chat with Cole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also did a little experiment with shifting tenses. I tried to write a small portion of the story in present tense. Because I don't understand how to html this shiz correctly, I've denoted that section with an (*). Hope its not too jarring.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Varric was getting to the point of calling bullshit on this whole deal. His lungs were aching, his legs were burning, and his side still hurt from getting hit by a rock thrown by that nug-humping highwayman! By the tits of his ancestors, he was never going to live that one down. And this cursed country. They’d been out for weeks and it’s been up the mountain and down the mountain, then up and then down - always the terrain went up or down! He was a city dwarf whose feet were made for flat stone or loitering on a bar stool, and definitely not for this ever-lasting trudge through the countryside. 

From under his brow, he ventured a look up the slope. Only halfway up. _Ugh_ , he thought to himself. Seemed like they’d been climbing for hours. The Inquisitor was all but bounding like a halla over the steep, rocky terrain. She was followed closely behind by Cassandra who, of course, would be in tip-top shape. Did the Seeker ever relax? She was already as hard as stone and just as personable. Always up at the crack of dawn swinging that sword of hers, or so he was told, because he, certainly, was never up that early. 

_Well good for them_ , he continued his silent rant. He’d like to see how they'd do with legs as short as his. Comparatively, they probably gained an extra foot, or so, each step. Furthermore, even with his short legs he was probably still heavier than the both of them…on account of all the muscle. Digging his foot into the dirt for better leverage, Varric felt the muscles in his legs twinge at the exertion. _All right, all right_. Maybe he should be out in the yard more often doing a few of those calisthenic things Cullen was always going on about. But, he didn’t recall ever having this much trouble keeping up with Hawke, who seemed just as fit as the Inquisitor. But maybe she just walked slower? Varric shook his head. No, he had better things to lie to himself about; no use wasting perfectly good self-delusion over trivial crap such as getting older and being out of shape.

He patted his belly. He could hardly be called soft, but muscle only gets you so far. He took a deep breath and a raspy wheeze, akin to the sound of air being squeezed out of reluctant bellows, came from his lungs. _Fine_ , he thought. Drills with the Seeker. He cringed. She did her drills so early and he was always up so late and the thought of dealing with the Seeker that early in the morning was not the least bit appealing. Nope. That wasn’t going to work out. Besides, it’s not like he wasn’t going to make it up this hill; it was simply going to take some time. A lot of time. 

Raising his head again, it looked as if they were about to crest the summit. “About shittin’ time we got to the top,” he said aloud.

“You aren’t to the top of anything yet, ol’ boy,” Dorian reminded him with a chuckle. He had been walking next to Varric for some time, having fallen behind earlier under the guise of having to stop and take a piss. Varric suspected the real reason Dorian was at the back with him was because he didn’t want to break a sweat, lest it mess up his hair. 

“When I can breathe again, Sparkles –”

“Venatori!” He heard the cry right before he saw Cassandra raise her shield to block a blast of energy. Then she was stumbling backward, her sword falling from her hand as she lost footing on the rocky slope only to fall and roll tail over teakettle down the hill right past them. Dorian reached out in a failed attempt to catch one of her flailing limbs. As he heard grunts and groans bounce out of her, Varric winced in sympathy. That had to have hurt. 

“Cassandra!” He heard Blackwall cry, before the warden, with a scowl, barreled over the crest of the hill to help the Inquisitor who was just out of sight. 

“Go!” Varric yelled at Dorian. “I’ll help Cassandra.” 

Dorian nodded then sprinted toward the fight. Varric figured the mage would be extra sparkly, in a deadly way, now that his visage was to be marred by the sweat, dirt, and gore these skirmishes inevitably created. Varric looked to where Cassandra had landed. He was two steps toward her when she staggered to her feet. Letting out a relieved breath at the sight, he hollered to her. Signaling that she was okay with a raised hand, she nonetheless appeared to be somewhat wobbly, with vegetation sticking out of her hair, a nasty cut over her eye, and a pissed sneer that could make the bravest of souls pause. Good. Then she was charging back up the slope toward him. Varric turned around and begun climbing in earnest, digging his hands into the soil and all but pulling himself up this flaming bastard of a hill. He just had a few more feet left when he felt a hand grip his leather brigandine.

“Varriiiiiic,” Cassandra urged, dragging him up the rest of the way. “We need you up here!”

“I know that, Seeker,” Varric grumbled through gritted teeth. Maker’s mercy, she was strong. 

She let go of him when she saw her sword, picking it up and whirling it around in a menacing fashion. It took her only a moment before she was charging at the first Venatori she spied: a marksman, who was aiming squarely at the Inquisitor. He didn’t know what hit him as Cassandra, literally, hit him with her shield. 

With sure hands Varric loaded Bianca, choosing poisoned-tipped bolts for extra insurance. These Venatori were particularly nasty and they often traveled in squads of at least ten with one spellbinder. Varric hated those nug suckers. Using demons to do your dirty work was cheating, as far as he was concerned. A quick count of the dead told him at least six were still standing – all plate wearers. _Damn_. “Find the one that’s summoning demons!” He called out. 

He felt it before he saw it. The dark creature was focusing its energy upon him, draining him, and trying to steal his will. Instinctively he scrambled away from it, grunting in effort to escape its sphere of influence. Twisting to sink a bolt into his flesh, he saw that Cassandra had already beaten him to it; her sword plunged deeply into the creature, and when she pulled back, her blade was dripping with a crimson gore. There was a grim, but satisfied look on the Seeker’s face. A quick nod of his head and Varric was pinpointing another demon, tamping down the terror he always felt at seeing such a creature, but somehow getting used to the sight. 

In front of him, the Inquisitor and Dorian were putting on quite the light show with their complementing mage spells. Dorian was an accomplished necromancer but he was equally skilled at setting things aflame, while the Inquisitor focused more on winter magic. Later, Varric would write that their spells seemed choreographed as their enemies were either getting immolated then chilled to death, or vice versa. 

To his left, he heard Blackwall roar in an effort to bolster the group. “Come on you bloody whoresons! Is that all you've got!” Varric couldn’t help the smirk that crossed his face. The guy wasn’t a wordsmith, but he was to the point. A sturdy fighter, Blackwall favored a sword and shield like Cassandra. Yet, he was more cautious than the Seeker. Varric thought of him as a moving wall. Bolstered behind his shield, Blackwall wore his opponents down bit by bit. The grey warden could seemingly outlast anyone and take a hit – several if needed. 

At his side, stood Cassandra, her chest heaving, her eyes scanning…looking. Such a contrast to Blackwall. If Varric were to make her a character in one of his books, he would undoubtedly describe her as fierce; a warrior who had few equals; a finely-tuned instrument of justice. The Seeker was always moving forward and some, who wouldn’t know better, might describe her as “hasty.” But Cassandra’s perceived impatience in battle was buttressed by her formidable martial skills. Before her, enemies fell and she walked over them without remorse to face the next wave. Varric had to admit, she was…terrifying, actually.

“Spellbinder!” Cassandra growled loudly, pointing at a nearby copse of trees. All the group shifted their focus onto the powerful mage before it could finish its next summoning. 

Varric reached for a grenade only to find that he had none. “Well shit,” he mumbled. He brought Bianca up but the spellbinder had erected a magical shield that his bolts could not penetrate. "Blighter!" Varric growled. That shield wouldn't last and Varric was ready to make the spellbinder a pincushion. But Cassandra had other plans. She charged, of course, but before she reached the mage she paused a brief moment, her head down as if she were concentrating. Suddenly she was flinging her arms out, emitting a flash of light that disappeared so quickly Varric knew that if he had blinked, he would have surely missed it. The Seeker had inflamed the mage's blood. Varric didn’t understand how she did it, and it was supposedly done without the help of lyrium; it was damn impressive. But the most important thing was that the spellbinder was stumbling, his shield was gone, and that there was a cry of agony that left his lips before he was taken down by the combined efforts of the group. The bastard bloody well deserved it.

Bianca hung at Varric’s side, held loosely by a weary hand. If the crossbow could be a living creature, it was surely tired but pleased at its efforts. The fight was done. They had wandered a short distance from the carnage and Varric found the nearest rock to rest upon. With a well-earned grunt, he set Bianca in the harness across his back. All things considered, Varric suffered only some scratches and bruises. He heard Blackwall exhale a long breath as the warden sat himself upon a nearby log. “I might be getting too old for this shit,” Blackwall mumbled as he removed his helm. His hair was sweat-soaked and Varric could see that his hands had a little tremble to them, no doubt from adrenaline and exertion. 

Dorian was still walking amongst the corpses, scanning for clues that might be useful, his face sour and pinched. His thin leather armor appeared to have a new gash in it, and Maker forbid, he had a fair amount of grime on him. Sparkles hated the grime. 

Across from him he watched the Inquisitor talk with Cassandra who surely was feeling more tired than they, considering the tumble she took down the hill. Yet, she looked as if she could go another round without a thought. She stood, posture ram-rod straight and her hands gesticulating with intent. But there was something that made him pause, and the Inquisitor must have sensed it too because she moved closer to the other woman. Then the Seeker faltered, stumbling backward and the Inquisitor reached out to grab her arm. Varric saw the look of distress Lavellan threw at him, and he was up off his rock like a bolt leaving Bianca. 

*Back at Skyhold, Leliana quickly folds the parchment, laying a protective hand over it, guarding its contents before prying eyes. But it is the _boy_ , Cole. Hiding it would be of no matter. “Cole,” she greets pleasantly for she has no issues with the spirit who wishes to be real. “I did not realize I was in need of comfort,” she says with a well-used smirk, while her hand smooths out the crinkles of the well-worn parchment. 

“Warm. It calms you. It fills you…warm…like spring. No. Silent. The first bloom of a flower. White.”

Looking up at Cole from underneath her cowl, Leliana extends a hand, palm up to soften her appearance. “Come, sit.”

It pleases Cole to have been invited by Leliana. They had met once before. Not that long ago. She was different then. Harder. Angrier? But the Spymaster is tougher to read than most. In hiding, she is very practiced. “Darkness,” he says, sitting in the chair across from her. “Winter always comes, but it always goes. The flower blooms again.” 

Leliana's lips tighten, but she is resigned. The boy means no harm. They sit at a table in the second story of Herald’s rest. It is considered her table, and when she walks in it is always inexplicably empty. Leliana sits with her back to the wall, her line of sight unimpeded. The tavern is not full, but there are a few people present, dusting off the day with an ale, or enjoying a light meal. She knows who they are. A few off-duty soldiers, a mason and his apprentice, a weapons merchant, and a botanist from the Anderfels who failed to leave Skyhold before the deep snows. Nobody gets into the fortress without her knowledge. 

She sits and listens. Not for nefarious purposes but to just…listen. It is as simple as her wanting to escape her aerie, to free herself of the agents bustling around her, the flap of bird wings, the sussing sound of voices shrouding her in the business of intrigue. 

It has been a month since the Inquisitor has left the fortress walls. In many ways, Leliana wishes she was out there too. With a sigh she neatly folds the letter, placing it within the hidden pocket of her vestments. Cole eyes her without guile. He has no need. “Words," he says. "So few. Yet, she wished to add more. She struggles. The quill is sharp and it bleeds her more than any sword. She hopes that you can see…more.”

Leliana drops her eyes to the table. “Cole,” she says quietly, “have you ever been drunk?”

Cole tilts his head at the question. He looks amused more than confused. “No. But I have tried.”

“Would you care to try again?”

“Yes,” he says with an eager nod. “It is safe with me.”

“Good,” Leliana says with a smile. She is about to summon the barkeep when she sees Tanner, one of her agents, ascending the stairs. “What is it?”

Tanner is a smuggler and she holds herself in the false assurance of a bluff she learned a long time ago. In her hand is a rolled parchment. It is small so that it may be carried by wings. “It’s from Charter.”

With a frown, Leliana accepts the scroll. She sees the symbol that marks it for her eyes only. Pulling out her dagger, she breaks the seal and reads the words hastily scribbled in Charter’s horrible handwriting.

“I wish to go as well,” Cole says. He so quiet that Leliana almost forgot he was there and, in fact, Tanner looks surprised to see him. Leliana wonders if he still does that on purpose. 

“Cole,” she says with a touch of venom to her voice. “It is rude to overstay your welcome.”

“Then why do people think so loudly?” He asks with all innocence. 

Leliana is standing now, and with a nod she dismisses Tanner. “Are you bored, Cole?” She asks.

Cole is standing too. “Yes. And I miss Cassandra like-”

Leliana puts up a finger to stay his words, but her thoughts are a clear warning to him as well. “We leave tomorrow morning.”*

The sun had just set in Crestwood and Cassandra tried not to wince as she settled herself next to the Inquisitor. The fire was small but inviting and the sound of the logs popping and crackling had a soothing effect. The rain had stopped but there was a dampness that still covered everything and, after a time, had a way of creeping into your bones. “You know,” she said scooting closer to the fire, “they’ve cleared out a whole room within the keep for you to do your pondering.” 

“Wouldn’t want to break up the card game,” the Inquisitor said with a smirk, pulling her knees closer to her chest. “Besides,” she said looking up at the stars, which had finally had a chance to make an appearance, “one of the perks of adventuring is to actually be outside…under all of this.” She pointed upward. “Let the soldiers who’ve been away from Skyhold for longer than us have the rooms. I’m not averse to sleeping within tents.” 

“Or outside of them,” Cassandra teased. They were still within the walls of Caer Bronach, so they weren’t really in the wild but for Lavellan to freely give up such comforts, however small they may be, it was very telling. It gladdened Cassandra and solidified her belief that Lavellan was truly the Herald of Andraste.

“It’s home to me. And you?”

Cassandra laid back and closed her eyes. “I long for some fresh air.”

“Riiiight,” the Inquisitor chuckled. “Your tent is as drafty and soggy as mine.” 

The Seeker just smiled and sunk deeper into the blanket one of the soldiers had kindly left for her. 

The Inquisitor pointed at the gash on Cassandra’s head. “That looks better. Healer did quite the job. You won’t even have a scar.”

“Good. I hardly have room for anymore.”

“Don’t you know, Cass, that chicks dig scars?” 

Cassandra snorted. “Bollocks,” she said. “And don’t call me, ‘Cass.’” Then after a pause, she opened one eye, fixing it on the Inquisitor. “Do they?”

“Answer for yourself,” the Inquisitor replied with a grin Cassandra would describe as annoying. Then the elf looked pointedly at the Seeker’s chest, “Lady Pentaghast.” 

Cassandra let her head fall backward, her eyes on the stars. “Why do I engage you in such inane conversations?”

“Boredom? Anyway, still having headaches?”

“No,” Cassandra lied. 

“Hmm.” Lavellan didn’t believe her, but she wouldn’t push. 

“I heard there’s a high dragon in the area. A Northern Hunter. A particularly voracious beast.”

“Aren’t they all?”

“I suppose,” she said bringing a hand to rest across her stomach. “I heard this one is causing quite a bit of worry, as they do.”

“You hear a lot for someone who’s been sleeping for two days.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “We head south tomorrow, then?”

“Noooo. Varric, myself, Dorian and Blackwall head south tomorrow. You, my friend, are not fully healed.”

Cassandra sat up, ignoring a whoosh of dizziness that swept through her. “You are quite mistaken if you think I am staying behind whilst you hunt a dragon!” She growled through gnashed teeth.

“Cassandra,” the Inquisitor said with a shake of her head. It would be a lie if she said she wasn’t expecting this conversation. “There will be other dragons. Rest so we can travel back to Skyhold soon.”

As if to prove a point, the Seeker all but jumped to her feet. “Do not mollify me. I’ve been holed up in that tent for two days. I’m fine. I. am. going.”

“If I hadn’t seen for myself that you had suffered a head injury I would think that you had the thickest head in all of Thedas!” The Inquisitor let out a long sigh, but she knew any argument would be of little use. “Fine,” she consented, slapping her palms to her lap. “Come. I don’t care. But if you…if you get another scar it’s on you and I’m not telling our Spymaster.”

“Leliana? What about her?” Cassandra asked, her brow furrowed. 

“Oh, I dunno. Maybe you haven’t heard the stories, but I have. The former Left Hand gets very upset when the former Right Hand gets hurt.” Lavellan laughed when she saw Cassandra only get more befuddled. “Oh for real?” She pointed at the Seeker. “You really don’t know this? Never mind, you are the most thick-headed person in Thedas. Go back to your tent, Seeker. At least do my conscience a service by getting a good night’s rest.”

Cassandra crossed her arms, wondering if she should push the Inquisitor on her remarks, but finding she didn’t have the energy for such an endeavor. Better to not push her luck. “I will be up at dawn.” 

“I’m sure you will be,” Lavellan said with a dismissive wave. “I, however, will not. The dragon is not far. We can leave late morning.”

“It’s better to hunt them early. I should know. I _am_ the dragon-hunter.”

The Inquisitor threw her hands up. “Of course. We leave at dawn, then. Happy?”

“Marginally.”

The Inquisitor looked keenly at the sometimes infuriating woman standing before her. “I don’t understand why I have such fondness for you, Seeker.”

Cassandra shrugged. “Boredom?”

The Inquisitor laughed. “Yes. That must be it. Sleep well, Cassandra.”

Cassandra smiled then she let out a resigned breath. “Inquisitor, I thank you…thank you for your concern. But I am fine.”

“We shall see,” Lavellan replied. It wasn’t a challenge. It was simply the truth. If she were in Cassandra’s shoes, she’d probably be doing the exact same thing. And even if the Seeker wasn’t one hundred percent, she was still worth more than a dozen men. The tricky part was that she’d have to pay more attention to Cassandra and less attention to the dragon. The Inquisitor would make it work. Cassandra would do no less for her. 

“Goodnight, Herald.”

“Goodnight to you, Seeker. Oh, and if you would be so kind as to inform our boys that we will be leaving at the crack of dawn, I would appreciate it. If you are well enough to insist on coming then you are well enough to listen to them squawk like babies. Their squawking will be your fault, after all.” She laughed as the Seeker made a rather rude gesture in her direction. 

“Bloody well early it is,” Blackwall said as he stomped his feet, trying to get the feeling back in them. The ruin, which the dragon had made its lair, lay in front of them. They would leave their horses here and proceed on foot. Hence the stomping of his feet.

“I told you to double your socks, as a cold wet is much worse than dry snow, but you were very,” Dorian lowered his voice in a rough approximation of Blackwall’s, “I know how to dress myself. I’ve no need for a nursemaid, you Tevinter scum!”

“I never called you Tevinter scum.”

“No? Perhaps I just assumed you did. Regardless, my feet are quite toasty.” 

“In all fairness, Sparkles, you can create fire with your hands,” Varric interjected as he dismounted. 

“Oh quite true. Disregard, then.”

“Besides, our Seeker slash dragon-hunter said that getting up at the ass-crack of dawn was the best way to catch us a dragon.” Varric was also quite cold and grumpy. 

“Oh blood and damnation have we travelled with sucklings or warriors?” Cassandra said as she situated her shield (a rather large heater shield emblazoned with the Seeker crest) upon her back. 

“Apologies, Lady Seeker,” Blackwall replied, sounding somewhat repentant while deliberately ignoring Varric and Dorian’s collective eye rolls. 

“Curse me for a fool, Seeker, but that dragon doesn’t look like its working very hard to escape,” Varric continued to grouse. “We could see it from a distance, and that mindless creature hasn’t moved one inch.”

Cassandra looked over at the Inquisitor as if she were going to put a stop to all the whining, but the other woman just held up a hand. “I didn’t even get a blasted cup of tea this morning!”

Cassandra let out a sigh and rested her forehead against her horse’s neck. “Maker preserve me,” she muttered quietly to the animal. Louder she said, “Then you are cursed, for dragons are cold-blooded. They move slower in the colder hours of the morning and the evening. The light is usually better in the morning, hence we hunt them in the morning!”

“Oh,” all four of them said in unison.

“Gah!” Cassandra snorted. “Are we hunting or knitting?” She snapped her sword into its scabbard and stormed off in the direction of the ruin. “And by the way, they are far from mindless,” she yelled back at them. “I would dare say that she is much brighter than all of you put together at this very moment!” 

The Inquisitor let out sigh. Seems as if she’d been doing that a lot these last few days. “Well boys. Our Seeker has spoken. Gear up.” 

“Stay away from the tail!” Lavellan heard Cassandra cry out the warning as she and Blackwall charged to within melee range. The Inquisitor and Dorian began their spellcasting immediately. Their staves moving quickly in an almost synchronized fashion. Varric was the furthest at range, his glowing bolts leaving Bianca as fast as he could load them. The three of them were spread out in a circle, while Cassandra and Blackwall attacked with their swords. Blackwall would take the brunt of the dragon’s attack, standing at its head, taunting the beast with his shouts and slashes to its front legs. Cassandra would be the opportunistic one and they would follow her lead. Whatever part of the dragon she was attacking, they would also attack, weakening the beast and preventing it from being able to freely take flight. 

There was a reason that there weren’t many families in Thedas who specialized in hunting dragons. The first, being that dragons had only recently returned at the beginning of the age, but also, it was hard work fighting a dragon. It wasn’t something that you finished rapidly; it was a long, slow slog of mostly running, dodging, and blocking while managing a few strikes when the timing was right. Plus, there was a fairly good chance that the dragon would win. So far, this fight was a draw. For all dragons are powerful but the high dragons are the most mighty of dragonkind. The Inquisitor did not relish the killing of such a magnificent beast. But the devastation such a creature begets …well, here they were: saving the locals and their livestock. 

“Her breath!” The Inquisitor warned as the dragon reared up its head and looked straight toward Cassandra.

“Here you filthy beast!” Blackwall challenged, trying to get the dragon’s attention. But it was no use. Cassandra had made it particularly angry with that last strike to her haunches. 

“Scatter!” Cassandra commanded as she raised her shield, hunkering down behind it, her knee sinking deep into the ground now muddied by scuffling feet. Quickly, she reached for the potion at her belt. The apothecary had made them each one for today’s hunt. It would help lessen the shock she knew was coming. She broke the vial and downed it. Then her world lit up into a crackling spasm of white light. Curling into herself, the Seeker pulled her shield closer to her body. Her head was down and her teeth gnashed as her shield rattled - a thin defense against a dragon’s rage. She could feel her shield’s enarmes tighten around her forearm as the lightning energy of the dragon’s attack prickled around her. She could hear her companion’s shouts as they battled on and she hoped they were able to get a few shots in whilst the dragon focused on her. Suddenly the light was normal, but Cassandra’s fingers still tingled as Blackwall’s grip latched onto her pauldrons, pulling her to her feet and out of the dragon's focus. She looked up at him, a firm nod indicating that she was okay. Then she was pulling his ear to her mouth, hastily describing her plan to him as their companions continued their attacks with enviable precision. 

Lavellan had just cast her winter grasp spell when she heard Cassandra shout at her. “What?” She cried out, unable to hear clearly through the high shrieks of the dragon. 

“Cast that again!” Cassandra repeated.

The Inquisitor nodded and raised two fingers, indicating how long before she would have the energy to conjure the spell once more. Cassandra indicated that she understood, but instead of running into melee range she ran toward Blackwall, giving him a hard tap on the shoulder as she ran past. Lavellan frowned, wondering just what exactly the Seeker had planned. Taking a deep breath, she focused, tapping into the energy of the Fade, drawing upon it to enable her power. “Now Seeker!” She called, slamming the end of her staff into the ground. From it, a burst of elemental energies sparkled like diamonds. A layer of ice formed around the dragon, encasing all but her head. Soon the chilled prison would explode, the icy shards seeking out the spaces between the dragon’s scales, burying themselves within her flesh.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Cassandra take off in a dead sprint toward the dragon who would be immobile for only a few moments longer. She had dropped her shield and held only her sword. Blackwall had dropped to his knees, his kite shield angled into the mud, not toward the dragon but, instead, toward a charging Seeker. 

“You can’t be serious,” the Inquisitor mumbled in astonishment. Then she saw Cassandra’s booted foot land upon Blackwall’s shield, and he, using strength that could only come from battle, exploded upward, thrusting his arms toward the heavens and propelling Cassandra high into the air. In both hands, she held her sword above her head, the blade angled downward like a spear. She landed high on the beast’s neck, her weapon sinking deep. They both roared great keening sounds, one of which saddened the Inquisitor and the other filling her with such honor. Then the ice prison shattered, a cloud of white shrouded both dragon and Seeker. When it cleared, the Seeker was no longer hanging from her sword, and the dragon was listing to its side, like a ship about to roll. “Cassandra!” she heard them all scream. But it was too late. The dragon collapsed, its body making a giant thwacking sound as it hit the mud. 

All of them ran toward the dragon’s carcass, seeking Cassandra. Tucked neatly next to its great belly, the Seeker sat on her haunches. Her head down, and chest heaving. “By the lost Dales, Cassandra!” The Inquisitor huffed as she rushed to her aid. 

Cassandra shook her head but did not try to rise. “I told you I knew how to slay dragons,” the Seeker said with a faint smile just before her eyes rolled backward and she pitched forward. 

A hand is flat at her cheek. It is warm and soft and calloused. She feels a finger trace her scar, and she tries to pull away but there is a soothing sound, which calms her. And, instead, she turns into the touch. For a moment she thinks she feels lips at her forehead. She has a new scar there. She knows it. 

Later, she tries to open her eyes, but they don’t want to seem to cooperate. She hears voices. They are hushed but angry, fast and apologetic. “She had a head injury Inquisitor!” She knows that voice and she smiles. But there’s something else, and she wants to reassure her, but she can’t seem to remember the words.

“I didn’t let her do anything! She’s as stubborn as a druffalo! Have you ever tried to stop Cassandra?” She snorts at that. But as she fades off again, she wonders at the “druffalo” remark.

Her head is full and she fights to shake the viscous feeling, which beckons her back to sleep. “She will be awake soon. She’s healing well.” Cassandra does not recognize the voice. 

There is a hand on her shoulder; it is light and fleeting. She feels the bed move and she realizes someone has been sitting next to her. 

“Don’t leave on my account.” Cassandra does recognize the Inquisitor’s voice. 

“Pardon the intrusion.”

“Please keep your voice down, Charter.” That voice causes her heart rate to quicken. 

“Begging your pardon, but I have news.”

“Let’s step outside.”

Then Cassandra is reaching, grasping at the voice, wanting to make sure it was real. A hand fills hers, squeezing gently, before it brings it to rest on her chest. “Easy now, big girl. Can you open those pretty hazel eyes?”

“Ugh.” 

“She snorts in disgust. Now that _is_ a good sign.”

Cassandra moves her head then groans. “Maker’s mercy,” she manages to say. It is her first words uttered in three days. Her next words are for water, which the Inquisitor gets for her quickly. “Did I hear Leliana, or was I dreaming?” She asks, her voice cracking from disuse. 

She hears the Inquisitor chuckle, or so she thinks, for she has not yet fully opened her eyes. “Careful, Seeker. It is always most telling what you say when you are only half-conscious.”


	6. Spies be Spying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why does Cassandra wear that crown braid?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blackwall has a small line taken from Dragon Age Inquisition dialogue. I've denoted that with an (*). All credit to the brilliant writers at BioWare.

Quickly and quietly, they moved through the woods. It was dark, but Charter held a small torch and its faint flicker highlighted the broken twigs of a trail left for them to find. Her name wasn’t really “Charter,” of course, but that hardly mattered. Charter was just the latest pseudonym for the highly-skilled elven spy Leliana had successfully recruited to the Inquisition. Leliana, herself, held many aliases of which only a few were known to her closest associates. People she trusted might know of more - Josie and Cassandra, for example. However, there was always one alias a spy hoped to keep secret forever. 

She trusted Charter and her recruitment actually started long ago, even before the Inquisition was a possibility. It was during her “Marjolaine” years when happenstance had brought them together in dank tavern over steins of sour ale that both of them had pretended to enjoy. Leliana didn’t know if she should, or could, rely on the elf but, at the time, she had little choice. In the end not everything went as smoothly as Leliana had hoped, but Charter proved to be reliable and, surprisingly, honest. She had even hinted that Leliana should be wary of Marjolaine, but that was a lesson Leliana had to learn on her own. So that is why she currently found herself alone, following the elf through an unquestionably creepy part of Crestwood. 

It was a few hours before dawn and Leliana hoped they would find what they were looking for soon. Firstly, she didn’t want to lose the cover of darkness. But mostly, she was eager to make it back to Caer Bronach. The Inquisitor would ride out for Skyhold in a few hours and with her, Cassandra. Leliana knew this because she had been the one to hand her the missive from Hawke. It had come on the wings of Baron Plucky much to the chagrin of the poor agent who received it. Hawke and Stroud had tracked down Warden-Commander Clarel and the Inquisition would have to move quickly. Lavellan had indicated that they would ride back to Skyhold to resupply, then they would push out again for the Western Approach. Leliana knew she might not see Cassandra again for several more days if not weeks. 

Leliana sighed and when Charter looked back at her with a startled but questioning look, she jutted her chin forward, silently commanding Charter to keep her eyes to the front. A nearly imperceptible bristle from the elf caused Leliana to find remorse in her snappishness. She placed a hand on Charter’s shoulder – single tap indicating a silent apology. After all, Leliana wasn’t annoyed with the elf; she was annoyed with herself for thinking of things she shouldn’t, like a recovering Seeker. Yet, her concentration was frequently interrupted by her mind stubbornly replaying the events of the past couple of days. Leliana knew that was dangerous for several reasons. 

Earlier she had been told by the healer that Cassandra wouldn’t be ready to ride today, but both she and the Inquisitor knew that Cassandra would never stand for being left behind. “Will you ride with us?” The Inquisitor had asked her. “I won’t be able to get her to be easy, I know, but she seems to listen to you.”

Leliana had laughed at that notion. “You are talking about Cassandra, no?” She had replied. 

The Inquisitor looked at her with that charming little smile of hers, and Leliana could see why Josie was smitten. “Right,” Lavellan said with a shake of her head. “Well, ride with us anyway. We could exchange knowing looks when our Seeker tries to pretend she had not suffered a serious head injury. It’ll drive her absolutely mad.” 

Understandably, the Inquisitor was less than pleased when Leliana told her that she was uncertain if she would be able to fulfill her request. The Inquisitor was not angry about Leliana going about the business of being the Inquisition’s Spymaster, but she was upset at the possibility that Leliana would not be there when Cassandra awakene.

“She knows you’re here,” the Inquisitor said, the crease between her brows a neat perpendicular line of unease. She stepped closer to Leliana because she understood that Leliana would not wish to have this conversation overheard. “She knows you’re here. She thought she was dreaming, but I told her she wasn’t.”

“I-I,” Leliana stuttered and the Inquisitor raised an eyebrow. Not often had she seen Leliana stumble over her words. “Cassandra…she will understand.”

“Of course she will, Leliana. That isn’t the point,” the Inquisitor argued with kind exasperation. “Look, she’ll be awake soon. The healer said that the last set of herbs will only make her sleep for a little while, then she’ll be free to recover on her own. At least wait until then, all right? Pop in, give her a wave, tell her she worried you sick, then run off to do your spying. I don’t care. Please. I can’t handle grumpy Seeker Pentaghast again.”

“Inquisitor I…” Leliana hesitated and she couldn’t help to think that Josie and the Inquisitor had a lot in common. “I must go, but I will try and make it back before you leave for Skyhold. I promise.” This mission with Charter it was important, but it also provided Leliana with convenient excuse. Earlier, she had overheard Varric regaling some of the Inquisition soldiers with the story of their latest adventures. Of course, they would want to hear about the saving of the village, the closing of the rift, the slaying of the dragon and other harrowing feats of late. Leliana had learned that Varric was always eager to tell a yarn, and he was quite good at it. It was a practice that Leliana encouraged much to the irritation of Cullen who hated being mentioned in “Varric’s gross exaggerations,” as he described them. But Leliana knew that soldiers needed a hero and if they were inspired by the courageous deeds of their Inquisitor and her inner circle, than it was all the better for the Inquisition. 

As Varric launched into his tales, Leliana had settled into a shadowed corner and listened. She enjoyed most of it, until Varric got to the part about Cassandra literally catapulting herself at the dragon. He had the rapt attention of the soldiers, but Varric, himself, seemed lost in his saga. Much to Leliana’s surprise, for she was well aware that he and Cassandra had a complicated relationship, Varric’s voice trembled as he described the event. *Blackwall had even muttered something about being worried about the Seeker and how he had never met another warrior like her. A cold-sweat had overtaken Leliana and she fled her corner, but for what purpose and to where? And suddenly, she was just as mortified at getting caught turning aimlessly within the garrison as she was with the Seeker’s brazen disregard of her own mortality. She could hear the whispers already starting: _has the Spymaster finally lost her mind?_ Leliana was uncertain. 

Slumped against a nearby wall, Leliana had come to the burdensome conclusion that Josie was right: Cassandra, who could be as barbed as a wyvern, had bewitched a Spymaster’s heart. _How the Maker must love irony!_ Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of movement, a figure garbed in robes. It was the healer. She had spoken to her shortly upon arriving at Caer Bronach, and immediately after the Inquisitor had sheepishly relayed the news of the Seeker’s injury. Why wasn’t she watching over Cassandra? “How is the Lady Seeker?” Leliana called out, her voice just this edge of frantic. 

The woman turned, looking utterly surprised and ill at ease. Leliana ignored the healer's discomfort. She had worked long and hard to have that sort of effect on people. To her credit, the healer quickly recovered. “Good afternoon, Seneschal. I just left her room. Seeker Cassandra is resting.” When Leliana just stared at her, the healer twisted her hands together. “Her condition has not worsened from when we spoke earlier. I’m very versed in the healing arts, but if you prefer to have someone else look at -” 

“No. That won’t be necessary,” Leliana muttered, before turning on her heels. Leliana’s heart was racing as she walked towards the small room where Cassandra was recovering. She could not explain the irrational and overwhelming urge to lay eyes upon the Seeker again, nor could she deny it. It was not long before her hand was on the door, and she fought mightily against the urge to fling it open. _A breath, Leliana,_ she said to herself. She inhaled, then pushed open the door to steal in like a thief, exhaling slowly as she moved. It was just before dusk, but a few candles were already flickering. On the bed, Cassandra was still. Her eyes were closed and her arms folded across her stomach. Leliana had, on occasion, witnessed how Cassandra slept and it did not look like this. Her slumber looked forced, as if she were posed. Leliana hesitated on her approach, but she forced herself closer, her steps soundless, but feeling ever-so heavy. She held shaking fingers above Cassandra’s slightly open mouth, and she almost fell over in relief when she felt the warm breath against them. 

“Oh, Cassandra,” she whispered, her shoulders slumping in unwitnessed defeat. Leliana sat on the edge of the bed, careful to avoid disturbing the recovering Seeker. She pulled back her cowl, because she knew Cassandra preferred her without even though they had never spoke of such things. “I am here again, ma belle fille. Can you hear me?” She waited to see if Cassandra would respond, but the Seeker continued to slumber. 

“I would take your hand, but I’m afraid mine are shaking and I don’t want you to worry,” she said, her voice hushed. “When you awaken, I suppose, eventually, we will have to talk. I don’t know what will become of us then. If we will be able to weather this. Your friendship has become – I don’t know the right word for it…necessary, perhaps? But I see how you are beginning to look at me. I am not an innocent woman in these things…or in others. ” Leliana rubbed her palms against the thickly-spun fabric of her pants. “It would be a lie for me to say that I’m not affected. And maybe even sometimes I…do not help the situation. I’m so sorry, Cassandra. Seduction is a game I’ve played so long that sometimes I don’t even realize that I’m playing.” Leliana slid her hand underneath Cassandra’s, letting the weight of the Seeker’s hand rest upon hers and not caring if her own still trembled. “I’ve been careless.

“But you are not yet aware of your own feelings, no? How confounding you are, Cassandra. You are so many things, and I fear I…am,” Leliana bent down, so that she may whisper into Cassandra’s ear, “I am charmed by it all. I will have to tell you that this is all impossible and you will most likely agree, so gallant you are.” She smiled and with a light touch, she traced the scar at Cassandra’s cheek. “But here is my secret: I hope you do not. It is an unreasonable wish, no? But it is there and it is unbearable for there is so much that I can’t give you, and there is so much you can’t give me and I’ve learned that there will be no happily ever after, trésor. Not in this.” She covered her mouth before a sob could break the quiet of the room, but tears still escaped her eyes. Leliana roughly wiped them away with the heel of her hands. 

“Blood and damnation, what have you done to me? A spymaster who mewls like a kitten,” Leliana scolded herself and sat up straighter. She pushed a strand of Cassandra’s dark hair behind her ear. Usually tight and tidy from daily upkeep, the Seeker’s restless convalescence had caused her distinctive crown braid to loosen. 

Leliana recalled clearly when Cassandra had begun growing out the long strands. She was not a vain person, so things that appeared merely aesthetic had purpose to Cassandra. For example, she had once confessed that lining her eyes with kohl was not done for the sake of fashion, but because she thought they made her look fiercer in battle. Leliana would not disagree. Cassandra did not have to look at her in the flush of battle to disquiet her. 

Likewise, the braid had an effectual use. The metal of her helm rubbed Cassandra’s forehead uncomfortably, and she learned from a northern warrior that a braid would help lessen the irritation. It was a fond memory for Leliana because it was, in her mind, the start of their friendship. The Right Hand had come knocking on her quarters to reluctantly ask the Left Hand for a favor. Cassandra, for all her prowess, knew little about non-martial things such as braiding hair. She was clearly uncomfortable seeking help, but she had noticed the braid in Leliana’s hair, as she Spymaster wore it at the time. With a smile, Leliana held the door open as Cassandra walked in, chin up and shoulders back. She had admired the confident sway of Cassandra’s walk before, but when the Seeker stepped into the room that night, there was also a surprising shyness in her demeanor. The Left Hand found herself fascinated. It was also the first night they had actually talked more than a few sentences to one another. Cassandra sat on Leliana’s floor while Leliana sat behind the Seeker and, with a gentle hand, taught Cassandra how to accomplish a crown braid. 

And here she was, following Charter, thinking about it all over again. And her heart thudded deeply within her chest as she realized what a treasured memory that night had become to her. 

“There,” Charter hissed, pointing at something in the distance. She quickly doused her torch.

Leliana narrowed her eyes. Yes, she saw it too. “I’ll go to the left. Careful now, looks like there’s more than a few.”

“You do the same, Nightingale.” Then the elf was gone; her steps just as silent as Leliana’s. 

Morning had broken at Caer Bronach, and Cassandra busied herself about her room. She had already taken care of the personal matters of having a wash and braiding her hair. The armor has been checked (obsessively), the sword has been sharpened, the saddlebag and boots oiled, and now, Cassandra looked a bit lost at what to do next. Amused by Cassandra’s bemusement, the Inquisitor sat in a chair and watched. She wasn’t being very quiet, chewing her food noisily, a bowl in her hands and plate of bread balanced precariously upon her lap. It was enough to make Cassandra finally look at her. “What are you doing?” The Seeker asked.

“What?”

“Making that,” Cassandra smacked her lips together, “sound. Are you a pig at a trough?” 

The Inquisitor laughed around a mouthful of oats and bread. “Oh aren’t you one to talk? I’d sooner steal a carcass from a Varghest than to get a hand too close to your mouth whilst eating.” 

Cassandra rolled her eyes but smiled. “Touché.” 

The Inquisitor bent over to pick up the extra bowl she had brought with her. “Here. I tried to give this to you earlier, but you ignored me. Probably cold by now.” 

“I’m not hungry.”

“Really, Cassandra? I fear I will run out of patience if we start this so soon.”

Cassandra threw her hands out, indicating she had no idea what the Inquisitor was talking about. “I’m packing.”

“Yes, I see. All three items ready to be packed. We leave in a few hours, good thing you started early.” 

Cassandra snorted and turned away from the Inquisitor. “I cannot help if I’m not hungry.”

“You haven’t had a proper meal in three days on account of, oh, I dunno, being unconscious! Eat the damn porridge already!”

“I am not a child,” Cassandra grumbled as she begrudgingly picked up the bowl. She grabbed at the spoon the Inquisitor held out to her. After showing the Inquisitor a mild sneer, she plodded over to the bed, sat heavily upon it, and proceeded to eat the porridge in record time. Upon finishing, she placed the bowl on the floor and tapped it just enough with her boot so that the bowl slid over to where Lavellan sat. “There. I have had a proper meal,” she said with a petulant smile. 

“Now that wasn’t so hard, yeah?” The Inquisitor stood to leave. “Bloody disturbing perhaps, but not hard,” she said with a shake of her head and a chuckle. “I’ll see you soon, Seeker. Try not to do anything too strenuous in the meantime. Dirthara ma,” she muttered under her breath as she left the room.

With a defiant smirk planted on her face, Cassandra watched as the Inquisitor left. But soon the smirk had changed to a grimace. Cassandra rubbed her face roughly and the grouse she has let loose from her throat reverberated against the walls, making the room seem smaller than it already felt. The creep of an unfamiliar anxiousness started up her spine and she rolled her shoulders to stave it off. Cassandra took a few steps toward the door, then thought better of it. Outside this room, Cassandra knew, she would have to play the part of the self-assured Lady Seeker. At the moment, she didn’t feel as such. Instead, she knelt upon the stone floor, uncomfortable to her aching knees though she ignored it. With a deep breath, she began her devotions. 

Cassandra’s shoulders tense, and it is the only thing that lets Cole know his presence had already been sensed. He wanted to appear in front of her, but he knows people don’t react well to things like that, so he took shape behind her. She turned her head slightly, and he could see the muscles of her jaw tighten then relax. “Cole,” she greeted. Her tone remained neutral, but he could tell that it was forced. He knows he is only responsible for a portion of her anger; the other belongs to someone else. Before he can return the greeting the Seeker has turned back around, her head is slightly bent and her eyes are closed. 

Cole has stepped around her to sit on the bed. Quietly he waits for the Seeker to finish her devotions, but her thoughts have kept drifting, and Cole knows that she ends up even more frustrated. Finally, Cassandra opens her eyes. The intensity is still there, Cole could see it plainly, and as she stood, he heard the creak of her knees. He doesn’t find Cassandra’s reticence disturbing. It is her way. Besides he isn’t interested in the external noises she makes. Her thoughts are clearly shouting at him, even though she is trying very hard to keep them quiet. She doesn’t understand that their resonance leaves traces within her mind, and before she can erase them, Cole has already heard their pleas. 

Cassandra didn’t feel like engaging the spirit in conversation, and she silently hoped that he would grow bored and leave. She turned her back to him, grabbing her bag to begin packing her meager belongings. Lavellan was right: she doesn’t have much, but she doesn’t need many things. The Seeker doesn’t count her blessings in the number of belongings, but in other less tangible things. 

“She is tangible.”

Cassandra turned and looked straight at Cole. “Not now,” she said, the warning clear. Or it would be clear to anyone except Cole. 

“She is not here. But she is trying.” The Seeker has picked up her linen undershirt and she is about to place it in her bag, when she pauses briefly. Cole can see that her grip has tightened around the garment. Cassandra exhales a long slow breath as she puts the shirt into the bag. “You keep asking,” Cole explained. “I heard you.” 

Cassandra tilted her head from side to side, stretching her neck, and Cole has realized that she is trying very hard to not yell at him. Why, she does not, he does not understand. “I want you to leave," she said, annoyance dripping from each word.

“But I want to help. I don’t mind if you yell at me,” Cole said.

The Seeker shook her head. “I do not wish to yell at you Cole, even though you keep intruding where you are not welcome. My thoughts are my own. If I want your opinion on them I will verbally share them with you. Do not continue. Understand?”

“Confusion. But it’s not from the headache. Or is it? Your mind is clouded and you wonder why she doesn’t come to see you after you awake-”

“Cole!”

“She is with Charter.”

“I know that!” She said, throwing the bag onto the bed. 

“She had to leave. Torn, but agents…no, we need her. It must be only her and Charter.” He has paused and he looks at Cassandra, first his eyebrows raise, then he frowns, and finally his mouth forms a silent "o." Cassandra feels her stomach drop. 

“Don’t” she threatened. He claims not to be a demon, but Cassandra feels as if he has become one. 

“Jealousy,” he whispered, and he sounds surprised. 

Cassandra put a hand up in hope of stopping the torment of Cole _helping_ her. Of course, he has heard the most disgraceful of her thoughts and she would like for nothing more than to throw him out of the room. Cassandra knows that if he continues, it was a certainty. “Don’t say anything more, Cole. Please. I don’t even understand where these thoughts are coming from. They are not my own, I have no wish to delve into them further.” 

“But that’s not what you said earlier. They are yours,” he said, matter-of-factly. 

Cole falls silent and Cassandra waits, but he does not say anything further and she is relieved that his dissection of her is seemingly over. But he has closed his eyes and Cassandra comes to the realization that he is simply concentrating. Defeated, she falls onto the bed. “They steal into a room,” he began to murmur, “no one sees or hears. Rough, urgent breaths and she feels guilt even as she pushes the shirt from her shoulders.” Cassandra covers her ears. “But she wants, no, _needs_ to prove that she could go on,” Cole continued. “She can’t be broken. Not this time. It is comfort, but not desire, it is fear but not want.” Cole has opened his eyes and he is staring at the Seeker. “She is trying not to feel. But she wants to remain…human.”

Cassandra can no longer stay her temper. She has leapt to her feet, charging at the young man until she is a hair’s breadth away from him. She brings a fist up, but contains her violence. In her heart, she knows he doesn’t mean harm. Instead, she points a finger at him. “No more, Cole!” Her voice is tremulous. “Those are not your thoughts to tell! It is a violation!”

Cole has taken a step back, even he knows not to test the Seeker’s self-control. “I just wanted to help,” he whimpers. 

“Well, you are not!”

“I am sorry, Seeker Cassandra.” And Cassandra can tell his words are sincere. “I…you are my friends. I would not wish to hurt you.” 

Cassandra sighed deeply and ran her hands roughly through her hair. “Sometimes the best help you can provide is to remain silent.”

“How can I help if you if I don’t speak? You can’t hear my thoughts.”

Cassandra can’t help it, but she laughs. “Is that why you’re here? To help me?”

“I like her. She is kind even when she is not.”

Cassandra clenches her jaw and breaths out of through her nose. She is surprised a headache hasn’t arisen from this conversation. “I don’t even know what the means! Fine,” Cassandra said as she grabbed at her bag again. “It’s not like I could stop you anyway. You came with Leliana, why aren’t you with her now?”

“She didn’t ask. And she wants someone to make sure you’re all right. That you are safe.”

“So she asked you to check in on me?”

“No. But that is what she wants. I don’t…I don’t think I helped and I am unsure if you are okay. Are you?” Cole’s eyes have gotten wide and regretful, and Cassandra feels a reluctant pang of affection toward him. He smiles from under his wide-brimmed hat and the Seeker can’t help but roll her eyes. He has sat in the only chair, and he fidgets with his hands. “Have you finished that book?” He asked. Cassandra shakes her head and he looks very pleased. “Could we read now? I am anxious to hear what happens to Ser Shepard and Lady Liara.” 

Cassandra nods. At least it will give her something to do. 

A few hours later, the Inquisitor is not at all pleased with her Spymaster. “Mythal’enaste,” she muttered as she saddled her hart. They can’t wait any longer. If they don’t leave soon, they won’t make it to Talvington, the small village in the foothills of the Frostbacks. She had promised the healer that she wouldn’t make Cassandra sleep in a tent tonight. 

Speaking of, Cassandra, she had recently emerged from her room with a surprisingly agreeable disposition. Lavellan narrows her eyes at the other woman and wonders why. 

“I told her that she is trying.”

The Inquisitor jumped and grabbed at the reins of her agitated hart. “Shit, Cole,” she gasped. “You really, really need to stop doing that.”

“People have told me.”

“Good to know,” the Inquisitor said. “More action on that front, then, yeah? And I suppose you are speaking of Leliana.” Cole nods. “Well, she needs to try harder. We’re leaving.” 

Cole smiled as he pointed toward the entrance of the garrison. 

“Open the doors,” one of the guards yell. The Inquisitor's circle moves quickly toward the commotion. The guards pull the heavy oak doors open, and as soon as there is enough space, Leliana stepped through, followed closely by Charter. 

“Leliana,” the Inquisitor declared; Cassandra is at her back. 

The soldiers bustle about them, eager to see if either one of them is in need of assistance. The Spymaster looked worn, and Cassandra could tell she’s been involved in some sort of scuffle. Leliana’s eyes fall upon her, but they don’t linger. “Inquisitor,” the Spymaster said after a long exhale. “Apologies for being late.” She holds up an elegant finger. “A moment,” then she has turned away and is motioning for one her agents, who seemingly appear from thin air. She has taken the long bow from her back, pulling the young agent, who looks barely out of his teens, off to the side. Cassandra wonders when Leliana started recruiting them so young, but understands that the Spymaster must have her reasons. She watched as Leliana points emphatically at her bow. She knows that it must be in need of repair, and she also knows that the repairs must be urgent or Leliana would surely do it herself. The beautifully crafted bow was of great sentimental value to the Spymaster. The agent nodded rapidly then she sees Leliana mouth the word “go,” and he is off to the weapons master. 

Then Leliana is walking rapidly toward them. Charter has now joined her and Leliana stops. “Go eat and rest a bit. We don’t have much time.” Before Charter turns to leave, Leliana grabbed at the agent’s arm. She has taken Charter’s hand in her own and Cassandra hands clench into fists. “And get this hand checked out, I saw you favor it. ” It is a command, but it is said too gently for Cassandra’s liking. Soldiers don’t need to be coddled. 

“I’ll wait by the horses,” Cassandra said through gnashed teeth, but Leliana has heard.

“Wait.” Leliana has directed her stare toward the Inquisitor. “I need to speak with both of you. In private.” 

The Inquisitor flicks her head at the others. Leliana shakes her head no, and she apologizes. “Just the two of you.”

The others are not offended, versed as they are in the necessity of subterfuge. “We’ll be waiting, Inquisitor,” Blackwall says as he settles down to sharpen his sword. Dorian twirls the end of his mustache and Varric yawns. 

“What happened?” The Inquisitor asked as soon as they are sequestered away from prying eyes and ears. With a sigh, Leliana dropped into the nearest chair. There is no need to hide her exhaustion any longer. She and Charter just ran several miles because their horses had been spooked, and truth be told, it was a bit harder than it used to be. The need for her to move quickly over long distances diminished once she became the Inquisition’s Spymaster. However, she was pleased to know that she could still do it, albeit slower, when necessary. 

“Here.” Leliana looked up to see Cassandra holding a cup of water. “You look tired.” 

Leliana laughed at the Seeker’s penchant for understatement. But she is grateful for the water. She throws back her cowl, and revels at the feel of cool air hitting her still sweat-soaked hair. “We have a spy,” she said simply, and after she has taken a large gulp of water. “I can’t go back to Skyhold with you. Not yet.”

“A spy?” Cassandra asked, her hand moving toward the hilt of her sword as if the spy were in the room. 

“Well, shit,” is all the Inquisitor said. Leliana nods then she relayed the story of their deceased agent, Butcher, and suspicions realized. 

A while later, they all agree to what must be done. This spy is good to have gone undetected for so long, and Leliana must be methodical and extremely careful. The Inquisitor has placed all her trust in this matter squarely on Leliana. The rest of them will push on toward the Western Approach to handle the wardens. Hopefully by the time they return, Leliana will have ferreted out the traitor in their midst. 

“It’s too late to leave tonight, I fear,” the Inquisitor said. “We’ll leave at first light tomorrow.” Cassandra nods but she doesn’t say anything, In fact, she has said very little. And the Inquisitor is sure it is because Leliana has done her best to avoid eye-contact with the Seeker. Lavellan had never seen such a masterful display of avoiding someone in a room as small as this. With a clap of her hands she startles them both. “I’ll leave you two to catch up.” The two of them are about to argue, but the Inquisitor shuts the door behind her as she leaves. 

If the fate of Thedas didn’t seem completely reliant upon the Inquisitor, Cassandra would have surely throttled her. It was obvious that Leliana did not wish to speak with her and even though she had no idea why that may be, she did have enough social graces to know better than to impose herself where she was not wanted. But before she could gracefully make her exit, Leliana cleared her throat. Cassandra turns, an eyebrow raised as she waits to hear whatever it is that Leliana wishes to say. “How are you?” It is asked benignly, like she were asking about the weather. 

Cassandra straightened. “Fine.”

Leliana ran a fine-boned finger against the table’s surface. “I see.”

“And you? Were there many?”

“A few. Nothing we couldn’t handle, obviously.” 

“Obviously,” Cassandra parroted. “You should probably get checked, nonetheless.”

“You are the last person who should offer such advice,” Leliana replied after a rather inelegant grunt of disbelief. 

Cassandra looked at Leliana, and the Spymaster almost melted at the look of befuddlement on the Seeker's face. “Are you angry with me, Leliana?”

 _Damnation_. “No. No, I’m just tired. It’s been a long day and I still have much to do.” Leliana rubbed at her forehead, feeling the dirt still clinging to her skin. 

“Ah," Cassandra nods in understanding. "Well, Andraste knows how I can be somewhat ridiculous about my own care, but please see the healer. All right?” 

“I will,” Leliana agreed, too exhausted to argue.

“Good. I shall leave you to your preparations,” Cassandra said. She waits as if she wants to say more, but apparently thinks better of it. Leliana watched as she took the final steps toward the door only to suddenly turn back toward her. “And will you…will you please come and say goodbye before you leave?” Cassandra asked in a rush of exhaled air. “I don’t care how late it is.”

Leliana feels an unwanted, but not foreign, contraction low within her. It is arousal and want and it angers her. “I will try. No promises,” she answered brusquely. 

Cassandra’s hopeful look fades, and Leliana can’t stand herself. She calls to the Seeker just as the other woman steps out of the room. “Wait. Come back, Cassandra. Close the door.”

Cassandra leaned against the door and watched as Leliana pushed herself to her feet. The Spymaster arched her back, stretching to relieve it of its stiffness. After a moment, she is standing in front of Cassandra, her eyes are penetrating and they drift to the wound on Cassandra’s forehead. “How are you, Seeker? The truth this time.”

“Hardly hurts,” Cassandra admits with a small smile. 

“You had me worried.”

“Isn’t it you who always reminds me of how hard-headed I am? There was nothing to worry about.”

Leliana reached out and smacked Cassandra on the arm. “For the love of Andraste, do not joke, Cassandra! You had me worried. I mean really worried.” The floodgates had opened. “I don’t know what I’d do if -,” Leliana licked her lips, tasting the salt of dried sweat. “Why do you have to be so…so…you!”

The look on Cassandra’s face was not what Leliana had expected. There was no anger, just a mix of bewilderment and tenderness. And then suddenly, she found herself being pulled into Cassandra’s arms. “What are you doing?” She asked in a near panic. 

Cassandra’s soft chuckle was only slightly calming. “Are we that out of practice? I am going to give you a hug, Leliana.”

“Why?” But even as she verbally protested, she did not physically resist.

“Because we are friends, and as I understand it, that is what friends do. And it seems as if you are in need of one.”

It was awkward, considering their armors, but it was also perfect. “I must smell horrid,” Leliana huffed as she laid her head on Cassandra’s shoulder. 

“Yes,” Cassandra agreed as she tightened her arms around the Spymaster. Leliana felt smaller than she looked. 

“I hate you,” Leliana said with an indignant chortle. 

“No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t,” Leliana agreed.

“I’ve missed you, Nightingale.”

Leliana sighed and in for the first time in weeks, she relaxed. “I’ve missed you too, my Seeker.”


	7. Faded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad dreams and lots of dialogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter was going to be a little longer but I hated the last three pages. But, because I hadn't posted in a while, I decided to go with the shortened chapter. Hope you don't mind. If work doesn't suck the rest of my soul away, the next chapter should be a bit beefier and hopefully posted sooner rather than later. Hope you enjoy it. Oh *denotes a small bit of dialogue taken from the game. Credit to BioWare who own all the rights and blah, blah, blah. 
> 
> Also, please know that if I don't respond to each of your comments it's because adulting has gotten the better of me. I really, really do appreciate them and the kudos. Thank you.

“Everything is wrong here.”  


Cassandra does not disagree. Everything was absolutely wrong. She could see it; she could feel it. The ground beneath her feet swayed, causing her to curl her toes within her boots, as if that would give her more grip, but all it did was make her calves cramp. As the ground beneath her crumbled after each step, Cassandra wondered how long before it gave away completely. 

“Shitballs, arse, demons, crap,” Sera mumbled darkly. 

“Calm yourself,” Solas encouraged firmly, but not unkindly. 

“Suck a hairy tit,” Sera replied, not so kindly. 

*“Hostile emotions only draw the demons more quickly.”

“Sera, come; stay behind me.” Cassandra knew the last thing they needed was for the archer to lose her nerve. 

“It’s not real, right?” Sera asked, positioning herself behind the Seeker and her wonderfully large shield. “It can’t be.” 

“Solas?” The Inquisitor asked. “Are we here…physically?”

*“Yes, I believe so,” he answered, the awe clear in his voice. “I never thought….There is a demon here. Extremely powerful. Some variety of fear, I would guess.” 

As Solas walked ahead of her, Cassandra couldn’t help but feel that he has been to this realm, this place, before. His footsteps are not the least bit cautious and his face is relaxed with familiarity. A moment ago she was sure he was going to point something out, but then he dropped his hand back down to his side. Her eyes narrowed upon him as he swiveled his head about, his eyes peering eagerly like the sights are something to enjoy. Cassandra felt the urge to ask him if he’d like to stop and have a picnic, but she restrained herself. That would just be petty, which is how she gets when she’s frustrated, uncertain, and scared. An _apostate_ , she scoffed silently. She’s unsure if she would have ever agreed to an apostate advisor if it were not for Leliana’s letter. 

Leliana. She wished she were here. Cassandra was full of doubt about the apparition that hovered in front of them. Leliana would know better if this was really Most Holy. Although Cassandra respected Divine Justinia greatly, and they did have a friendship, their relationship remained professional if not somewhat distant. However, it was different for the Left Hand. Some had said that Leliana had access to the Divine that was inappropriate. Cassandra wasn’t bothered by the baseless innuendo, but it was easy to see the two were close. Perhaps closer than herself and Leliana are now, and maybe closer than they would ever be. Cassandra felt a small twinge at this realization, and it made her pause. 

“There is no time for regrets,” the spirit proclaimed. “Have you lost your faith?” Although the question was not posed to anyone in particular, Cassandra knew it was directed toward her. Before she could answer, the spirit disappeared in a flash of light. 

“Cassandra?” 

Cassandra knew that the Inquisitor wanted to be reassured, but it was beyond her. She could not be for certain. Pragmatism told her no, this is just a spirit, at worst a demon, taking the form of the Divine. But it didn’t feel like the trick of a demon and deep down, Cassandra wanted to believe. She wanted this to be _The Divine_. If they ever needed her guidance, wasn’t it here? Could Cassandra find the faith to believe that Most Holy found a way to help them one last time? She wanted it be true; she wished for it to be so. 

“Shit, Seeker,” Varric grumbled. “If anyone would know, wouldn’t it be you?” It was an accusation. 

“Nah. We need the Spymaster,” Sera chimed in. “She’d be the one. She’s bloody good at killing too. Could be of use right about now, yeah?”

“Both of you just…be silent,” Cassandra spat.

“Cassandra?” The Inquisitor asked again. “It could be, right?”

“I don’t know!” Cassandra is devout, of that there is no question, but that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t ever feel doubt. How could she not with what she has been called, and is still called, to do? “Leliana would know,” she admitted under her breath. Leliana, who was not a zealot, yet still remained steadfast in her beliefs. When evidence could not suggest otherwise, Leliana relied on her faith - always. 

Cassandra brought a hand up to shield her eyes, blinded from a sudden flash. The spirit appeared once more. “Is that still true?” The spirit voice emanated a profound sadness. “I fear we have asked too much. She is losing her way, Seeker. Help her.”

“She cannot even help herself!” The Nightmare laughed proudly at its gibe. Resisting the urge to cover her ears, Cassandra instead hoisted her shield and tried very hard to pay no mind to the bitterness rising in her throat. “That is doubt, Seeker.” The Nightmare elongated her title with an insipid hiss. “Your nightingale no longer has her wings and your Inquisitor is a fraud.” Lies. But they echoed in her head as she decapitated the lesser demon in front of her. 

Hawke and the warden Stroud argued and the Inquisitor had dutifully stepped in between them. She’s become very good at diffusing arguments. Hawke, however, was resolute. Her eyes have remained unsentimental and she seemed angrier than the situation called for, and even Stroud looked taken aback. Cassandra wondered how much of that anger is due to residual guilt or the overwhelming weight of being a Champion. It matters not, and Cassandra found that she had little sympathy for doing what you must. When she has decided that Hawke is right- that the Wardens have become too dangerous and out of control - Cassandra could not voice it aloud. Her jaw remained clamped shut. 

“See. You are ripe with it,” the Nightmare taunted again. “Doubt churns from you. I can see it, Seeker. It crawls out from under that armor you hide underneath. Can your Spymaster sense it? Perhaps you are the fraud?”

“Don’t listen, Cassandra,” the Inquisitor urged. “That is what it wants.”

Cassandra nodded and shut her eyes, but the Nightmare would not be dissuaded from its verbal assault. “What then does the Spymaster want, or rather who does she want? Her one true love was a warden, was she not?” 

“Dare not speak of Leliana,” Cassandra growled. 

“He will use what we hold dear, Seeker,” Solas warned. Cassandra glared at him; he shouldn’t presume to know what or who she holds closest to her heart. But he didn’t react to the Seeker’s glare, and, in fact, looked quite relaxed. It made Cassandra very cross. 

“Right. Demons are shit. Ignore this fucker. Got it. Can we move on with this already? I’d like to get out of here, thank you,” Sera pleaded, her hands twisting around her bow. 

“But I’m not done with the Seeker,” the Nightmare laughed. “Let us talk of the Hero of Ferelden. What a majestic title for such a pitiful woman. In the end, she couldn’t even save herself. But then again, haven’t they called you the Hero of Orlais. Will your fate be the same?” 

“Show yourself, and then we’ll see what fate holds for the both of us!”

As the demon’s laughter faded into the background the apparition appeared in front of her once again, and Cassandra felt as she did when she really stood in front of Most Holy. “I thought you knew her.” The spirit was disappointed. “Perhaps I will always know her better. That is truly a shame.” It was then that Cassandra realized that she was alone and all she could see was the green mist that swirled around her. 

“Inquisitor!” She yelled. “Sera! Solas?” Cassandra has felt fear many times, but this is perhaps the first time she’s ever felt abject terror. As she whirled, almost stumbling upon her own feet, Cassandra could feel the erratic beat of her heart and a cold chill at the top of her spine. _What is this?_

“Panic.” The Nightmare whispered in ear. “You cannot even help your friends. You are helpless, Seeker. In all things…so helpless.”

“Die in the void,” Cassandra forced the words out through gritted teeth and she could feel the beads of sweat forming at the top of her lip. 

The Nightmare, made a clicking sound. “I had hoped for a bigger challenge,” it said, now with more pity than ridicule. “How does it feel to fail?”

Startled by a scream, Cassandra grabbed for her sword. When she doesn’t feel the familiar hand-worn leather of her hilt, it felt as if the Fade had swallowed her whole.

“Cassandra. Cassandra wake up. Wake up!”

With a jolt, Cassandra sat up. Her skin felt hot, like she had just walked through a wall of fire and her lungs yearned for cool air. The bed dipped and she feels a soft touch at her lower back, but her eyes remained closed because she’s not yet ready. Taking a deep breath, Cassandra rested her head in her palms as she tried to make sense of what just happened. Close to her ear, she heard the whispered nonsense words meant to comfort her, but she still felt as if the demon’s claws were clutching at her. Between her breasts Cassandra fisted her thin nightshirt, feeling it damp with sweat. 

“Cassandra?”

Slowly, Cassandra removed her hands and dared to open her eyes. “Leliana?”

“I’m here,” Leliana answered, lifting her hand to the Seeker’s forehead. “Hey,” she said softly as Cassandra leaned into it. That simple action worried Leliana greatly. The Seeker was not one to accept comfort so easily. “Do you feel sick?” She ran the back of her fingers against Cassandra’s cheek. “You’re a little warm.”

Cassandra shook her head, reluctantly pulling away from Leliana’s touch. “No. I think I was having a dream.” 

“A rather unpleasant one, from the looks of it.” 

“Quite,” Cassandra muttered as pushed herself up the bed so she could lean against the headboard. The coolness of the wood felt good against her skin. 

Leliana sat patiently as Cassandra pulled herself together from her nightmare. And it definitely was a nightmare, not a ‘dream’ as Cassandra referred to it. Leliana certainly had experienced enough of them to recognize the signs. She did not like seeing Cassandra distressed, nor did she like hearing the heart wrenching scream that came from the Seeker’s lips. Leliana had hastened to wake her, and even now she could feel her own heart still racing. 

Cassandra drew another deep breath, her chest expanding and fighting against the invisible band that had tightened around it. Slowly she exhaled, her body relaxing with the effort. When she turned to look at Leliana, she couldn’t stop the eye-roll at the Spymaster’s concerned expression. “I’m fine, Leliana. I will not wilt because of a dream.” She smiled when Leliana’s expression changed to one of exasperation. “That was locked, was it not?” Cassandra tilted her head toward her door.

“Mmhmm.” Leliana’s tone was completely unrepentant, like Cassandra should have expected to wake to Leliana sitting beside her. 

Cassandra began to smile, a tease ready at her lips, but the smile doesn’t have a chance to fully form before Cassandra’s face turned ashen. 

“What is it?” Leliana asked with some urgency, ready to fetch one of the healers.

“Where’s my sword?” Cassandra clamored clumsily to get off the bed. 

“Easy.” Leliana’s strong hands have gripped Cassandra’s shoulders to calm her. “Cassandra it is here; I will show you.” She took a brief moment to make sure the Seeker wasn’t about to bolt from the bed before she leaned down to pick up the sword. “It’s right here. Where you always keep it. See?” She held it up for Cassandra, pulling it from the scabbard, its engraved blade pointed downward. “It’s safe…you are safe.” Cassandra frowned and the slightly indignant snort she made is as familiar to Leliana as it is amusing. 

The Seeker reached out and took her sword from Leliana, leaning it against the wall. “Thank you.” Cassandra picked at the hem of her nightshirt. “It’s just that…,” Cassandra realized that her panic was just a side-effect of the nightmare. “Of course,” Cassandra said, with a slight tremble to her voice. “Of course. I’m sorry.” 

“No need for apologies,” Leliana replied with a reassuring smile. Nonchalantly, she reached down to pull the blanket over the Cassandra’s bare legs. With a shy smile, the Seeker took the blanket from Leliana’s hand, pulling it up to her hips. Cassandra didn’t consider herself overly modest, but perhaps sitting here in a short nightshirt was a bit much for casual conversation. Leliana patted her leg gently. “I didn’t want you to get cold.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Would you like me to make you some tea?”

Cassandra grunted. “I’m not a baby, Leliana.”

“No,” Leliana answered with a chuckle. “You certainly aren’t.” Leliana averted her eyes from Cassandra’s chest, feeling that it could veer dangerously into an ogle. She wasn’t some lout in a tavern, but the Seeker’s sleepwear left little to the imagination. Not that she hadn’t seen it all before. When you essentially lived with someone in a places with communal baths, well, it was bound to happen. But that was all before Cassandra made regular appearances in Leliana’s fantasies. “Would you like some tea or not?”

“Since you keep breaking into my room, yes. It’s the least you could do.” She side-eyed Leliana, as the other woman stood. “People may begin to talk.”

“As if anyone sees me. You give me so little credit,” Leliana huffed in jest. She bent down to stoke the embers of Cassandra’s small fireplace. “Your reputation is safe.”

“As is yours.”

“Au contraire. It would be advantageous to my reputation if people were to see me sneaking in and out of your room.” Leliana waggled her eyebrows.

Cassandra sighed and leaned against the headboard, closing her eyes in the process. “You’re incorrigible, Leliana. Do you flirt with everyone?”

“Mostly. But you are definitely the most fun.”

“Hmm.” 

Leliana stood after she put the small clay teapot near the flame. “Does it bother you?” She asked quietly. 

“That you flirt with me or with everyone?”

“Both.”

Cassandra looked at her directly. “Why should it? You are hardly serious.”

Leliana forced herself to remain relaxed. “And if I were?”

“With me or someone else?” Cassandra asked, her brow creased heavily.

“Both.”

“Then that would be…confusing,” Cassandra confessed as she moved to sit on the edge of the bed, careful to keep her lower body covered by the blanket. 

“That's a rather vague answer.” 

“Yet that is the best answer I have. Besides it is too early to engage you in a war of tongues.” Cassandra quickly put her hand up when she realized what she had just said. “That’s not what I meant.” 

With a raised eyebrow, Leliana let Cassandra know that she was asking quite a lot from her to ignore such a gift. With a showy sigh, she turned back toward the fire. 

Cassandra cleared her throat. “Is the tea ready?”

“Almost. You do know it’s not that early, yes?”

It was then that Cassandra noticed the natural brightness of her room. Usually, she rose early enough that she had to light a wall sconce. Surprised, she stood and looked outside. “Andraste’s breath,” she muttered. 

Leliana gave her a look as she steeped the leaves. “Do you wish to talk about it?”

Cassandra began to rummage through her footlocker. “The flirting? Not really,” she said as she pulled out a pair of leather trousers. “I can barely keep up with this conversation as it is.”

“No,” Leliana answered with a gentle smile. Only a few days ago the Inquisitor and her group, including Cassandra, had returned from Adamant Fortress looking as if they had been run through with a dull sword. From what Leliana was told, it had been a truly dreadful experience that cost them a good man. She was saddened to hear about Warden Stroud, but also relieved to hear that Varric did not lose Hawke. Cassandra, of course, said little about her time in the Fade. Instead the Seeker continued on as if it never happened. Leliana knew better and she knew Cassandra was quite shaken by the experience. The nightmare was just the first sign. By the Maker, Leliana was upset and she wasn’t even there! Something like that, well, there was only so much that you could lock up and ignore before the rest of it simply forces its way out. “Your nightmare. It’s been a difficult couple of weeks, no?”

Cassandra snorted. “You’re usually not prone to understatement, Leliana.” She finished lacing her trousers and sat heavily on the bed. 

Leliana handed Cassandra a cup of tea and sat next to her. “It’s happened to me too, as you know. It isn't something that I would’ve wished on my closest friend. We're not meant for it.” She smiled ruefully. “Yet here we are. Fate has a horrible sense of humor.” She placed a hand on Cassandra’s knee, giving it a light squeeze. “You can talk to me, you know.” 

Cassandra sighed deeply, and she folded her hands around the cup in her lap. “I know…it was...I dreamt of the demon who taunted us in the Fade.”

“Ah,” Leliana said. “The Inquisitor told me how the demon tried to use your fears against you.” Cassandra nodded, taking a sip of her tea. “She said you seemed the calmest of them all.” 

“I’ve been trained to appear calm.”

“I know. That’s why it comes out in nightmares, yes?” Leliana resisted the urge to remove a wayward strand of hair from Cassandra’s forehead. 

“I suppose.” 

“What was your fear, Cassandra?”

“What _is_ my fear,” the Seeker corrected. She tilted her head to look at Leliana out of the corner of her eye. She wanted to tell her, but the words caught in her throat and the invisible band once again tightened around her chest. She took a sip of her tea and waited, wondering if Leliana would maybe change the subject. But the Spymaster was patient. So very patient. Cassandra chewed on the jumbled thoughts, trying to make them sound coherent but after several false starts, she finally gave up. “I know that you’re trying to help and I appreciate it, I really do.” She sighed. “But could we just leave it be, for now?”

“Of course.” Leliana smiled and then rose from the bed. “Whenever you are ready, I’ll be here. I should leave so you may finish dressing.”

Cassandra pursed her lips. The small look of hurt that crossed Leliana’s face did not go unnoticed. She grasped Leliana’s hand before she could leave. “I know you’ll be here, Leliana. And that provides no small amount of comfort to me, you must know that.” Cassandra was surprised when Leliana looked away. Her demeanor became shy, an unusual occurrence from the confident Spymaster. Cassandra had to suppress the urge to pull Leliana into a hug of reassurance. Instead she released the Spymaster’s hand. “It’s true. I’m just not good at...talking. It makes me tired.” 

Leliana laughed and tried not to focus on the heat Cassandra’s hand had left behind. “You are very self-aware, Seeker.”

Cassandra smiled. “I promise we’ll talk of the Fade, nightmares and, maker-forbid, feelings.” 

“Feelings are my favorite.” Leliana smirked. “I’ll let the rest know that you’re fine.” 

“Who?” Cassandra asked, the confusion plain on her face. “Is that why you broke into my room this morning?” She held up a finger.

“Of course. You were supposed to be at the war table early this morning.” Leliana looked askance at Cassandra as she knelt down and reached for something from underneath her bed. “When you didn’t show, we got worried. Naturally. For you are never late, let alone absent. What _are_ you doing?”

“Oh right, of course,” Cassandra replied with a grunt. 

Leliana heard a scraping sound as Cassandra dragged a medium-sized lock box out from underneath her bed. “The key,” she muttered as she got to her feet and walked quickly to her dresser. After a moment, she was back at the box, unlocking it.

“Yes,” Leliana replied, frowning as Cassandra rummaged through the box. “We’re traveling to Halamshiral this afternoon. Actually you’re supposed to go this afternoon, I’ll be leaving shortly to…what is that for?” She pointed at the key Cassandra held out to her.

“A key to my room,” Cassandra pronounced proudly. “So you don’t have to break in anymore. You can use it anytime.” Cassandra shook her head. “I mean…not anytime. Not that it would bother me if you did. But in case, you know, if I oversleep again or…just take the key.” Leliana held out her hand and Cassandra happily deposited the key onto her palm.

“I don’t need this, you know?” Leliana informed her as she tucked the key into her leather gauntlet. For some silly reason she felt as if she were suddenly walking on air.

“Of course. You are the fastest and greatest lock pick in all of Thedas,” Cassandra teased. “But I’ve an extra, so why not make life easier for yourself?” 

“Practice is what makes me the fastest and the greatest, Seeker.”

“There are plenty of other locked doors in Skyhold, are there not?”

“It’s what’s on the other side of the locked door is that interests me.”

Leliana smiled and the heat of it, made Cassandra look away. This morning when she had awakened the feeling in her stomach was fear. The feeling that Leliana gave her now was definitely not fear, but a feeling Cassandra was not accustomed to and one that she had long forgotten. It was vexing because, prior to this very moment, Cassandra had never found herself attracted to women. Well, maybe there had been an admiration of a keen mind, a respect for martial prowess, an appreciation for a kind soul, or a veneration of a fit body. There had been women that she had felt all these things for, the Inquisitor for one. Lady Montilyet was another. But she’d never wanted to kiss them – even though the Inquisitor had presented her with ample opportunity. Yet at this very moment, she definitely wanted to kiss Leliana. Her friend. The Inquisition’s Spymaster. The former Left Hand of the Divine. _What is happening to me?_

“Cassandra? Are you feeling okay? You’ve gone pale again.” Leliana began to walk toward the Seeker.

“Yes,” Cassandra answered, moving quickly to avoid Leliana. “Just hungry, I think.”

“C’mon then,” Leliana said with a wave of her hand. She walked over to Cassandra’s armor stand, pulling off the leather gambeson. “Finishing dressing and let us walk to the kitchen. We may be able to find left-overs from this morning. If not, we’ll trade on Josie’s name. Mistress Bolgier is quite fond of her, apparently.”

“You lie.” Cassandra scoffed taking the gambeson from Leliana. “Mistress Bolgier likes no one.”

“She likes, Josie.”

Cassandra raised an eyebrow before she shrugged. “I admit, Lady Montilyet is very charming.” 

“You find Josie charming? Huh. She thinks that she annoys you. I, of course, tell her that you are annoyed by everyone and not to take it personally.”

Cassandra smirked. “You know me so well. But I will make an effort to tell Josephine that she doesn’t annoy me nearly as much as other people do.” She smiled at Leliana’s laugh. She reached for the corselet hanging from the bedpost. She turned back around and caught Leliana leaning casually against the door, arms crossed. Suddenly, changing in front of her seemed awkward. “Leliana, could you…” She pointed toward the door.

Leliana rolled her eyes. “Really, Cassandra. I’ve seen it before.”

“Humor, me.” 

“Very well,” Leliana said as she turned to leave. “I’ll wait out here.”

“You don’t have to.”

Leliana frowned. “You don’t want me to?”

“I do.”

“Then I will,” Leliana said with a wink. “Hurry, Seeker. Tis almost midday. We can’t have people thinking you’re lazing about.”

“Reputation’s must be kept.” Cassandra said lightly. 

“Indeed,” Leliana replied as she stepped out into the corridor. 

Before she could close the door, Cassandra called out. “Thank you, Leliana.” And the Spymaster simply smiled as she closed the door.


	8. On the Way to the War Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric is a jerk, but we still love him anyway, and Hawke's missing a certain pirate. Cassandra and Leliana only share a fleeting glance but don't worry because we're just getting warmed up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a funny thing happened: I had to do quite a bit of traveling this past month, so that's why I haven't had much time to get something posted. Maybe that's not very funny, but it's a reason. I know I promised a longer chapter but I guess I'm a horrible person because it's not. This is short, and light on Cassandra and Leliana interactions - like seriously, nil. But if you love Varric and Hawke this is the chapter for you. I personally love, love, love these two and since this is my story, I write what I want. :) Indulge me. 
> 
> Thanks again for your comments and kudos. I can't tell you how much I appreciate them. I will try my level best to post something again soon!

* * *

Varric sat at the small table where he did most of his writing. Although lately, he’s done very little actual quill-to-parchment writing and more chatting, drinking and observing. The table was in the great hall or the “Throne Room,” as some may say, but the Inquisitor balked at calling it so. A throne room alluded to royalty, and according to Lavellan, she was just a simple Dalish elf who had inexplicably acquired a glowing hand. A fanciful tale, and even to Varric it sounded too far-fetched. Yet it was the reality and not nearly as simple as he would write it. He had been given ample opportunities (whilst seated at this very table as a matter of fact) to observe how decidedly complicated everything had indeed become. It was theatre, really. The performances provided by the throngs of nobles who had come to negotiate for an audience with that “simple Dalish elf.” Most never made it past the first set of guards, who had become well-versed in separating the chaff from the wheat, so to speak. Some may even have managed to speak with the Inquisition’s diplomat, Lady Montilyet. Varric was sure that Ruffles made their chats a delight as he imagined her face shining with a well-practiced look of enchantment - as if their stories were the most incredible she had ever heard. But no matter how those nobles charmed, threatened or growled mightily, rarely did any make it past her. It amused Varric to no end, and certainly made good character fodder for his books. 

“Ahoy, Blackwall.” Varric called to the warden as he entered the hall. 

“Ahoy?” Blackwall snickered. “Sailors, are we?”

Varric waved his hand dismissively. “Habit. You do know that Kirkwall’s a port town.”

“Ahoy then, _matey,_ ,” Blackwall answered. 

“No need to be an ass, Hero.”

“Pardon, Serah,” Blackwall said with a raised hand. “Have you seen, Cassandra?”

“Why? Have you some spare humor you need to drown in a pit of solemnity?” Blackwall scrunched his brow and Varric shook his head. “Nevermind, pot to kettle. No, I haven’t seen the Seeker.”

“Alright then. If you see her tell her I was looking for her, won’t you?” With a nod of his head he made to leave.

“Whoa, ho, ho. Don’t run off so quickly.” With the tip of his boot, Varric pushed out the chair across from him. “Have a seat. She’s bound to stroll through here eventually. She always does.” Blackwall hesitated, causing Varric to tap the chair once more with his boot. “C’mon, Hero. You’re spending way too much time in those stables, as is. Surely I’m better company than a horse?” Blackwall harrumphed but settled himself into the offered chair. Varric grinned at the warden whose true demeanor, Varric guessed, was locked away behind that grim-faced façade. He surmised that Blackwall probably had a plethora of skeletons in his closet, as was the case with most of the Inquisitor’s inner circle. Yet there was something about Blackwall that went beyond that, and it seemed to Varric that Blackwall was always trying dig himself out from underneath a mountain of regret. Sometimes the man was just plain sad and that look that crossed his face when Varric called him, “Hero.” Well it was hard to explain. The surface dwarf shook his head. Figuring out this sodding crew was sometimes just too big of a task. Better to just drink and ale and let it all be. “Whaddya want see the Seeker about?”

“Nothin’ important. I need some sword practice and I wanted a sparring partner. Lady Cassandra is a highly-skilled swordswoman.”

“That’s what she said,” Varric replied with a snicker.

“What?” Blackwall asked with a tilt of his head.

“Nothing,” Varric said with a sigh. “Stupid joke. Makin’ rounds at the tavern, but even I don’t know why it’s so popular.”

“Its bloody rot, is what it is. Next bloke I hear utter it might find my boot up his arse.”

“Oh, so you did get it.”

“Of course, I did. I’m not a fool.” 

Varric chuckled and raised his mug. “Of course you aren’t, Hero. But back to the Seeker,” he nodded toward the arched entrance of the great hall. “As luck would have it, here she comes.”

Blackwall turned in his seat to see Cassandra enter the hall. He stood. “Seeker Cassandra,” he called. “A word?” 

Cassandra pulled off her gloves as she walked over to them. She was on her way to speak with the Inquisitor about this evening’s trip to Halamshiral, but it wasn’t urgent. Ignoring the ever present smirk on Varric's face, she gave him a curt nod before she hailed Blackwall. 

Blackwall was pleased by her pleasant greeting. “Hope I’m not keeping you from something important.”

Cassandra shook her head. “What is it you wish to speak with me about?”

“Nothing important, really. Just looking for a sparring partner, is all.”

“I would enjoy that but…” Cassandra began to answer but then her attention was caught elsewhere. Blackwall narrowed his eyes as he wondered what had distracted her so. In the distance, he heard a beguiling laugh and his eyes followed his ears. Near the door to Lady Montilyet’s office, Sister Nightingale was involved in quite the animated chat with the Champion of Kirkwall. He looked over to Cassandra whose eyes were already intent on the conversing pair. He raised an eyebrow and turned his gaze toward Varric. “I didn’t know your Hawke was friendly with our Seneschal.” 

Varric shrugged. As far as he knew, they weren’t, although at the moment, as Leliana was laughing again at one of Hawke’s no-doubt charming anecdotes, it appeared as if they were. “Hawke has a way with…people.”

“I’ve heard you mention that from time to time,” Blackwall said with a slight smirk. “Certainly looks that way at the moment.”

“Quite,” Cassandra answered blandly. 

“Nightingale has a beautiful smile when she emerges from the shadows. Ain’t that right, Seeker?

Cassandra ignored Varric, which she was becoming very good at. After a moment, Leliana and Hawke parted ways with Leliana, after a slight nod toward Cassandra, going toward the undercroft and Hawke heading straight for them. Cassandra plastered a polite look upon her face. 

“Good day, everyone,” Hawke greeted cheerily.

“Messere Hawke.” Cassandra thought the Free Marcher salutation was neutral enough. Not overly friendly, like she was trying too hard, and not too brusque, as she was sometimes accused, but respectful. Varric’s raised eyebrow did not escape her notice and she cursed inwardly. He would no doubt somehow needle her about this somehow, she just knew it. 

At first, Hawke seemed surprised, but then her eyes sparkled with a grin. “Lady Pentaghast,” Hawke said with a slight bow. “I do hope you’re feeling better. I was looking for you earlier. But I was fortunate to have run into Leliana and she said you were feeling a little under the weather.”

“That right?” Varric asked, and Cassandra thought he actually looked concerned. She shook her head; it must have been a trick of the light.

“I am. Thank you. Seems like I am quite popular today.” Cassandra said with a nod toward Blackwall. 

“Ah life as the iron fist of the inquisition,” Varric said with a smirk. 

Hawke rolled her eyes at Varric. “I wanted to…I hadn’t had a chance to talk with you after…oh I don’t know, see how you were doing.” The words fumbled out of her mouth with an alarming lack of grace. It sounded so much better in her head. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Varric’s sideways glance. After years of friendship, Hawke had learned to read his expressions like a road map. For example, the slight uptick of the left brow equaled surprise; the almost imperceptible twitch of his right eye with the tightening of his mouth equaled worry or that he just ate something sour – or both. Hawke cringed inwardly. He was going to make a “thing” about this, she just knew it. But she had a weird nervous tick and sometimes when she started speaking, particularly when it was nonsense, she couldn’t stop. Especially now, when the Seeker was looking at her so strangely. “It’s just that, I haven’t been able to catch up with you since…Adamant. Bit of a fright that was, as you know. Took me forever to wash the Fade out of my hair. Your hair looks terrific though.” Hawke sighed when Cassandra raised an eyebrow.

After an awkward silence Blackwall cleared his throat. “Lost a good man there,” he groused, taken aback by Hawke’s cavalier attitude over the whole affair.

“We were there, Hero,” Varric muttered quietly as he leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking as he did so. “Believe me, you don’t have to remind Hawke of that. She knows.” 

“Indeed,” Hawke said gravely, looking directly at Blackwall. “He was a very good man and my friend. He deserved more than what he got in the end, but we can’t change what’s done. I’ve paid my respects to his memory in my own way. However if you’d like to join me this eve, perhaps we can do that together over an ale at the Herald’s Rest?”

Blackwall pursed his lips and nodded. “Apologies, Champion. I’d like that.”

Varric clapped his hands together. “It’s settled then,” he said, putting the matter to rest before he turned his focus on the Seeker who had remained stoic during the interchange, which didn’t surprise him at all. “So Seeker,” he said, and his tone immediately put Cassandra on edge. “Whatever did get you out of sorts? Did someone steal the Inquisition’s best silverware?” Varric could see the little muscles in the Seeker’s jaw jump. “If justice must be served don’t let us keep you.”

Hawke slapped her hand, rather forcefully, onto Varric’s shoulder. “Apologies for my friend, Lady Seeker. I fear too much time in the Hanged Man has left my friend short on manners. You can take a dwarf out of Kirkwall but you can’t take Kirkwall out of the dwarf.” 

Cassandra shrugged. “He’s not the worst I’ve encountered.” 

“The worst dwarf or the worst Free Marcher?”

“Both.”

“Well that’s a relief, I suppose.” Hawke looked at Varric pointedly.

“See,” Varric mumbled as he crossed his arms.

“Anyway,” Hawked continued. “I do hope it wasn’t too serious, your discomfort.”

Cassandra got the feeling that there was more to Hawke’s query. “It was just an upset stomach. I bit of herbal tea settled it down.”

“An upset stomach?” Varric sounded astonished. “Aren’t you made of chiseled steel, Seeker? An upset stomach would portend to feelings. And, we,” he chuckled, “know you don’t have any of those.”

“Varric. For Andraste's sake,” Hawke admonished. 

“If only that were true.” Cassandra's somber voice made Varric feel regrettably horrible.

“C’mon it wa…ouch!” Varric muttered after a vicious shoulder squeeze from Hawke. 

“This is the part where you refrain from saying anything. At all,” Hawke informed him sweetly. 

Cassandra rolled her eyes. Varric was in fine form and Cassandra had little time or patience for it. She turned to Blackwall. “About the sparring, normally I would take you up on the offer, but some of us are traveling to Halamshiral this eve. Krem is quite good, though. You should ask him.”

“I’ll do that,” Blackwall answered.

“Oh right,” Varric shrugged out of Hawke’s grip and lifted his booted feet onto the table. “I didn’t get an invite to that shindig.”

Cassandra smiled. “A shame. The Inquisitor was regretful she couldn’t bring us all. If you really want to go, you can have my invitation.”

“Naaah. You love those things. Although, those Orlesian’s really know how to put on a display.”

“Besides,” Hawke countered, “Varric doesn’t dress up, well. Just so you know. He sorta looks like a bloated clown, but without the benefit of the makeup.”

“Ha ha,” Varric replied monotonously. “It’s not my fault I’ve really broad shoulders,” he pouted. 

“Indeed,” Cassandra said with a nod, marginally amused by Hawke’s jest at Varric but not enough to stay a moment longer. “Hawke, Blackwall,” she bid adieu, then she was walking toward the War Room. 

Blackwall waited until Cassandra was out of sight, before he stood, his chair scraping angrily against the stone floor. “You’re an asshole,” he growled, quite disgusted by the dwarf’s behavior. “And I don’t want to hear one more lick about getting dragged here against your will. I don’t see that you’re worse for wear because of it, so keep that drivel to yourself from now on.”

Surprised, Varric put his hands up. “Oh come on, Hero. What are you getting so upset about? The Seeker can handle herself. She is in no need of a _cavalier’s rescue_ ,” he said to Blackwall, but looked at Hawke. “This is what the Seeker and I do – we have an exchange of words, if you will.”

“Clever wording for: Asshole.”

“Well if you’re just going to be insulting,” Varric huffed as he sat back and crossed his arms.

Blackwall bowed to Hawke. Then he pointed to Varric. “Asshole.” Then he too was gone.

“So we’ll see ya tonight?” Varric yelled after him.

Blackwall waved an arm as he left the great hall.

Hawke sat down in the seat vacated by the warden. “Well,” she said, leaning back. “That was hideously uncomfortable. It’s so good to see that you’ve made friends here. I can’t believe I was worried about you.”

“Bah,” Varric dismissed her sarcasm with a wave. “He’s already over it. Mark my words, he’ll be meeting us later at the Herald’s Rest.” 

“I have no doubt; he’s an earnest man. Right as well: you were sort of an asshole.”

Varric placed a hand over his heart. “You wound me.” 

“If only,” Hawked said with a chortle. “What is this, though? Seriously.”

“Like I said, it’s our thing. Believe me the Seeker dishes out as well as she receives.” 

Hawke wasn’t so sure. “Well you seemed to be doing all of the ‘dishing’ during this last ‘exchange.’”

“Don’t be fooled.”

Hawke leaned forward, elbows on the table and she looked at her friend for a long moment. 

Varric tried to ignore her, but it was impossible when she pierced you with that blue-eyed gaze of hers. “Knock it off, Hawke.”

“Oh my. It’s as plain as day.”

Varric narrowed his eyes at this friend. “What?”

“You like her.”

Varric swiftly spit out the latest gulp of his watered-down ale. “What!”

Hawke raised a brow, a wicked smile upon her face. “You’re the little boy who’s always pulling on the little girl’s hair because you fancy her. I must say, you’ve surprised me with this one.”

“Okay, you’ve spent one too many days in the Fade because…” he was cut off my Hawke’s laughter. He smiled. On to Hawke’s game, Varric slammed his mug onto the table startling some nearby nobles. “Oh that’s rich. Convenient deflection. ‘I wanted to see how you were doing,’” he mimicked Hawke’s earlier query toward Cassandra. “I don’t know who deserved more mockery, you are Blackwall.”

“What’s this?” Hawke asked with a laugh. 

“I know you and Rivaini aren’t exclusive, but the Seeker? Or is it Nightingale. Either way could you pick more complicated women? My advice to you is: you have your hands full with the pirate.”

“Well those are the best kind of women, I’m sure you agree,” she said with a wink. “And I do enjoy having my hands full of pirate.” She looked around. “But as you can see, my dearest is nowhere to be seen.”

Varric rolled his eyes. 

Then Hawke poured herself a mug of that awful ale Varric loved and tried not to grimace as she took a hearty gulp. “And don’t be ridiculous,” she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Lady Vivienne seems much more complicated. I plan on visiting her next.” She laughed as her friend put his head in his hands in exasperation. “Really, Varric,” she admonished. “When did you start giving a nug’s ass about whom I dallied with?”

“Sure, sure. Have your _dalliances_ but you’re barking up the wrong tree with those two.”

“Of course, I know that, Varric. They are clearly, and so cluelessly, for each other. Like I didn’t notice that gaze of the Lady Seeker, not upon me, but on that of the lovely red-head at my side. Blow to the ego that was.”

Varric laughed. “You’ll recover. Look, all I’m saying is that those two…well, in this messed up world, the Seeker and Sister Leliana might deserve a little romance. And NOT from you.” 

“You bleeding softy,” Hawke teased. She then blew out a breath, displacing a strand of her wispy dark hair from in front of her eye. “Rest assured, I have no interest in either one of those two.” When Varric gave her an indulgently long look, clearly skeptical of her statement, she conceded. “Alright! Of course you’d have to be dead to have no interest, but truly, I kid you not,” she raised a hand, “my heart lies with Isabela.”

“So,” Varric leaned forward, “In three years there’s been no one?” 

“Don’t be absurd, Varric! I’m only human. But certainly not often. Rarely, in fact. Honestly, sometimes it’s hard, you know? When I think that maybe she’s not as lonely as I. That she’s…” 

“Never to be tied down, that one,” Varric said it softly as if he knew it was a delicate wound for his friend.

Hawke’s face softened with a gentle smile. “No. But I know it’s not the same for her. She doesn’t view it like I do.”

“Well just remember she’s only ever said ‘I love you,’ to one person.”

Hawke raised her mug. “That’s me!”

Varric laughed. “That’s you!” They both drank and Varric, at that very moment, couldn’t help to feel a deep gratitude toward the Inquisitor that she chose that Stroud should stay behind on not Hawke. But sod it all, the thought that he might be drinking to her memory tonight instead of the Warden was almost too much to bear. 

“Whoa, what’s the long face for?” Hawke looked at him with concern. 

“Nothing, nothing," Varric said with a quick shake of his head. "I miss her, is all.” And he did. Varric had so many fond memories of Isabela, often his partner in mischief. Yes, she had a shaky start in Kirkwall, and there was that small matter with the Arishok, but in the end she showed her true colors. Besides Hawke was madly in love with her, and that was enough for him. “Have you heard from her?”

“Well shortly after we determined that the Seeker nor the lovely Nightingale weren’t going to kill me, I sent word.” Hawke sighed. “I have yet to hear anything back.” She couldn’t keep the worry from showing on her face.

Varric patted his friend on the shoulder. “I’m sure you will soon. I’m sure that cheeky pirate of yours will show up when you least expect it.”

“Lookin’ forward to it,” Hawke said with a waggle of her brows. “It will be brilliant to see her again.”

“How long since last time?”

“Seems like an age. But,” Hawke waggled her hand, “probably around seven months or so. And only after a stolen moment at some smelly port town. True romance.”

“Long enough then.”

“Long enough,” Hawke agreed. “She’d better be okay. Or I’ll kill her.”

“She’s probably always thinking the same about you," Varric said with a sympathetic chuckle.

Hawke smiled. “Enough of this lovey-dovey rot. So Blackwall? He’s got a thing for the Seeker?”

“I believe he does.”

“And he doesn’t…?

“Totally clueless.”

“Oh dear.” 

“Well I would try and enlighten him, but he thinks I’m an asshole.”

“He’ll figure it out soon enough, maybe even before they do.” 

Varric gave her a thoughtful nod. “You might be right about that one, Hawke.”


	9. Why All the Masks?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shenanigans at the Winter Palace and lots of romance tropes for your reading pleasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys. Yes, I'm definitely working on this. Sorry it took me so long to post. Not sure why I had all the troubles with this chapter but it happens. Considering the shitty events of this weekend I just wanted to get something posted to you know...I dunno. I just hope you guys enjoy it. Would love to hear from ya.
> 
> Also, it occurred to me that I haven't posted any spoiler warnings. So THIS IS YOUR SPOILER WARNING. If you haven't yet finished your play through of DA:I there be spoilers ahead. Of course, I've changed a lot of it to suit my evil plans.

Flittering women and men in ornate dress and glittering masks filled the halls of the Winter Palace. Smiling politely around a mouthful of deep mushroom canapé, it seemed to Cullen Rutherford, Commander of the Inquisition forces, as if all of Val Royeaux had tried to cram itself into its grandest chateau. He chewed on the hors d’oeuvre and half-listened to the man standing at his right, one Lord Tibault. His Lordship was in the middle of a lengthy, and obviously embellished, story of his latest hunting excursion where he had managed to fight off a bear with only a stick! Cullen’s left eye twitched, but he raised another appetizer in honor of such a dubious claim before stuffing it whole into his mouth. In fact, Cullen would have gladly eaten his boot if this fleshy noble had indeed accomplished such a claim. Although Cullen did not give a damn about the Lord’s story, Inquisition diplomacy required that he at least appear as if he did. So, he nodded when a look was directed his way and smiled when it seemed appropriate. 

He placed his plate on the tray of a passing server, and brushed the crumbs from the front of his jacket. Nodding politely, he once again, tried to excuse himself from the group but they simply moved with him. For some reason a small, but persistent, band of gilded nobles had attached themselves to him as if he were the latest fashion. Frankly, the experience had Cullen scratching his head. He didn’t understand why or how he had acquired such sycophants, but he a deep suspicion it had something to do with Leliana. The Spymaster had a wicked sense of humor which, in his opinion, displayed itself in the most inopportune ways. And it certainly did not help her case that he caught her smirking his way once or twice. 

“Oh! Your Ladyship!” Was the startled gasp falling from someone’s lips and mercifully drawing the attentions of his merry band of bootlickers. Watching as they exchanged excited whispers of social speculation while gesturing toward the aggrieved Lady with great, but obviously contrived, concern, Cullen took the opportunity to make his escape. He had no idea what the commotion was or what caused it, but it probably had something to do with **The Game** – that wretched dance of Orlesian politics. 

Thinking his experience in Kirkwall would be enough to prepare him for Orlais, Cullen now knew that he had overestimated himself. He also finally realized why when he told Josephine that he was perfectly prepared she just gave him a soft pitying look, ignoring his comment completely as she continued to prep him on what he could and could not say or do. Granted, he was no Josephine, nor did he care to be, but he did consider himself adept enough to understand some of the most intricate of diplomatic webs. Yet now, after only short while, he understood that he didn’t understand a bloody wit of this _thing_ that the Orlesian’s performed. Why Orlesian’s couldn’t just say what they meant and get on with the business of it, was beyond him. Furthermore, why some people would actually enjoy partaking in it was equally as inexplicable. Huffing out a disgusted breath, he saw someone who would agree with him completely. 

As still as one of the great marble pillars she were leaning against, the Seeker didn’t bother to hide her boredom, nor her irritation. Cassandra barely tipped her head when Cullen joined her and he couldn’t decide if it were a disgusted sneer or an indifferent smirk plastered upon her face. He finally settled on it being a combination of the two. 

“Enjoying yourself?” He asked. 

She snorted. “You must be joking.” 

“You’ve found yourself a nice quiet spot, at least.”

“Lady Montilyet requested that I keep myself as…isolated as possible.” Cullen raised a brow and Cassandra shrugged. “Apparently she was quite afraid that I would somehow end the evening being challenged to a duel, or with an Antivan assassination contract upon my head.” 

“Well thank the Maker for these Inquisition colors,” he offered with a laugh. “I think they’ve saved us both from being caught up in some sort of rivalry we didn’t know existed. So, in that regard, I suppose it could be worse.” 

“It could always be worse,” Cassandra replied with a tilt of her chin. “But I find little solace in that at the moment. The sooner we find the Venatori collaborator, the better.” 

“Agreed,” he said, settling his shoulder against the pillar, “but at least you didn’t have to wear one of those elaborate gowns. I really don’t understand how those work, exactly.” Cullen made of show of sizing up the Seeker’s figure.

“What are you doing?” Cassandra asked with a truly unmistakable sneer. 

“Trying to picture you in a corset. Josephine almost ordered you an ‘Inquisition gown',” he teased while making air quotations. 

“Please,” she scoffed. “And never picture me in a corset again, or at least tell me about it.” 

“Yet, it’s such a pleasant picture,” he replied honestly. 

Cassandra shook her head and waved the Commander off. Cullen raised a brow when his comment failed to get the desired response from the Seeker. Admittedly, he wasn’t the smoothest when it came to flirting, but he wasn’t completely incompetent. In the area of amorous liaisons, well, he’d done well for himself and, in fact, never had much difficulty drawing the interest of a lady. Cassandra, on the other hand, seemed rather oblivious to it all and he was quite unsure if she had any inkling toward romance or if she simply found the concept to be a nuisance. He had been laying out hints of his interest, here and there, to see if Cassandra would pick up the trail. To date, she had not. Cullen was confident, however, that it would only be a matter of time. As their friendship had grown, so had his attraction to the Seeker and he had frequently found himself pondering the idea of their pairing. She was an admirable and practical woman. All of the benefit and none of the fuss, Cullen figured. To him, it made perfect sense and if they made it through this, he would very much like to pursue something with the Seeker.

Side-eyeing the Seeker, who continued to look upon the festivities with tedium, he decided that would definitely need to be more overt about his interest. Not now, of course. But in the future; once the gaping hole in the sky was patched up. Flowers maybe? Maker no! Offering the reticent Seeker such frivolities like flowers, sweets or,Maker forbid, poetry was literally the most ridiculous thing ever. Cassandra didn’t need such items, and would surely look at him as if he had sprouted horns. 

“Commander you have a strange look on your face. Are you well?”

Surprised, Cullen shook his head. “No. I mean, yes,” he cleared his throat. “It’s just that, I think you’d look…,”

“Cease these thoughts immediately, or I shall call over your new friends.” Cassandra smiled at his grimace and nodded toward the ballroom, half expecting to see his fan club enter the breezeway. “I heard you’ve become quite popular. And we’ve only just arrived. I’m impressed.”

“Leliana’s doing, no doubt,” Cullen grumbled.

“Perhaps.” 

“I’m still picturing you in a dress,” he muttered. Teasing Cassandra seemed to alleviate a bit of his frustration.

“Gah!” Cassandra spat and crossed her arms. “I’d rather have Varric use Bianca to shoot apples from atop my head.”

Snorting, Cullen knew that the dwarf would pay heaps for such a chance. All of Skyhold were aware of their prickly relationship. “But Josephine can be very convincing,” he insisted, not yet ready to quit his prodding. “If she rea-”

“Have you ever met a Mortalitasi?” Cassandra asked, cutting him off mid-sentence with a flip of her hand.

Cullen thought about if for a moment. “Oddly, in my travels to Nevarra as a Templar, I was never invited to the Grand Necropolis,” he countered with a touch of sarcasm. “I do know of your uncle.”

“Yes, I suppose you would. Vestalus Pentaghast; Prelate to the Mortalitasi order for a reason. Most Mortalitasi by design, I suppose, are not known for their great humor. My uncle…well, when he wanted you to do something it took little convincing. But he did not do it with the warmth or grace that Lady Montilyet deploys. He would simply turn his gaze upon you, he could… emit a strength of will that would leave you chilled.” She turned to face Cullen. “Yet, I was just a teenager when he came to me with that particular look on his face and a dress clenched in his hands, a dress, mind you, that he had special-made for my ‘debut ball.’ He told me that ladies wore dresses and it was time for me to put these silly ideas of dragon-hunting to rest. My role was not to be as I wished. It had been already defined for me, you see. But, I did not put that dress on, Cullen. Not then. Not now.” 

Cullen tilted his head in understanding and quiet admiration. He could absolutely picture a defiant young Pentaghast steadfastly refusing her uncle’s silent demand. When the Seeker felt justified about something, she was hard to convince otherwise. “At least these formals are…tasteful,” he offered.

Tugging at the hem of her jacket, Cassandra shrugged. “Ceremonial armor would have been better.” 

“Well, armor is always better,” Cullen quickly agreed. 

“Have you seen your tormentor?” Cassandra asked.

“My what?”

“Leliana,” she clarified. 

“Earlier,” Cullen groused. “She was in the ballroom. Strangely, she looked to be enjoying herself and even seemed…approachable.” 

Cassandra raised a brow, but didn’t comment. She knew of Leliana’s skill in The Game, and on occasion, had witnessed her mastery of it. In Orlais, Leliana seemed to transform and even though she appeared to be more accessible and more open, Cassandra knew it wasn’t genuine. Leliana had been trained well, and in a ruthless fashion. She didn’t often talk about her time as an Orlesian bard but Cassandra was aware of her history with Marjolaine and of the Bard-Master's scarring betrayal. So when she observed Leliana slip on the garb so easily, it served to remind Cassandra how dissimilar were their paths to the Inquisition. Many years now they fought for the same cause, but with decidedly differing methods. Leliana, an assassin of note, attacking from the shadows while Cassandra, and enforcer, shouted from the light. Of course, it was hypocritical for Cassandra to think that killing someone meant less or was somehow more honorable because she met them face to face on a battlefield. Cassandra was certain that if Leliana had painted a target on someone they unequivocally deserved it. Yet Cassandra was loathe to see Leliana fit so seamlessly into this world with her coy smiles and flirtatious winks; all falsehoods that Leliana painted on too easily for Cassandra’s comfort.

“Lady Vivienne just entered the ballroom,” Cullen advised her with a nod. “I believe that’s our cue for the formal introductions.”

“Oh joy,” Cassandra groused.

“Shouldn’t be that bad…Cassandra Allegra Portia…what was the rest of it?”

Not bothering to answer, Cassandra only gave him a smoldering look of warning as she made her way toward the ballroom. Although he was quite sure it was meant to do the opposite, it was a look that Cullen thoroughly enjoyed and wanted to see more often. 

Cassandra grit her teeth through the introductions. Afterwards, she allowed herself to be managed by Josephine as the Ambassador deftly led her through the gauntlet of trivialities that were required at such an event. Through it all, she had managed to keep her eye on the Inquisitor. That is, until the Inquisitor had given her a thumbs up and slipped out of the ballroom. Cassandra frowned but before she could follow, she felt a small tug at her sleeve and Josephine was introducing her to one more masked toady. During a quiet moment she leaned over and asked Lady Montilyet why she was the only one that required her presence. “Am I more trouble than, Sera?” Cassandra asked in jest. If she expected a smile from the Ambassador, she didn’t get one.

“Sera, actually, has more skill at this than you,” Josephine answered as her eyes meandered across the crowd. She placed her hand high on the Seeker arm before smoothing the tips of her fingers downward. 

“I see.” Cassandra voice was flat as she eyed the way that Josephine’s hand still lingered on her harm. 

“Ah," Josephine said with a shake of her head. She gave Cassandra’s arm a gentle squeeze before releasing her. “Forgive me, that didn’t come out as I meant. Very simply, no one expects anything from Sera. They see her as, how should we say, unimportant, which is a mistake because…”

“She see’s everything.” 

Josephine nodded. “Her Worship relies on all of her inner circle for counsel. But outsiders don’t see that; they don’t understand. You, however, are nearly as notorious as our Inquisitor. With your reputation as the Hero of Orlais.” Josephine smiled at Cassandra’s eye roll. “And, of course, you were the Right Hand of the Divine. And now you stand beside the Inquisitor. You are perceived to be the greater prize, you see?”

“I suppose. But I still find it idiotic,” Cassandra muttered. 

“You are not alone, I’m sure,” Josephine laughed. “But it is what we must deal with and to play effectively, you must find within it a certain…pleasure,” she spoke softly, moving to stand a smidgeon closer to the Seeker, “as you would in playing any game.”

“As if I would ever find this enjoyable,” Cassandra countered with a pinched face. She felt Josephine’s shoulders brush against hers and Cassandra suddenly felt a little uncomfortable with the closeness of the Ambassador, but she assumed that Josephine was just trying to be heard over the din of the ballroom.

“My point exactly,” Josephine said with a knowing smile.

Cassandra pinched her mouth then let out a slow breath. “Point taken. And what of the Commander? Surely, he feels the same way I do.”

“Oh yes, he does. But the Commander has been…handled.” 

Cassandra looked over to see he was still surrounded by his flock. “Tell me, Lady Montilyet, how did he acquire such devotees? Is that _your_ doing or our Spymaster’s?” 

“Whatever do you mean?” Josephine cooed, and the proximity of her person was such that one wrong movement from Cassandra could inadvertently cause a scandal.

Taking a polite half-step back, Cassandra did not buy the innocent act but she let it go. Best not delve too far into machinations of the Inquisition’s Spymaster and Ambassador. She took a sip of the small dram of Orlesian brandy that had somehow ended up in her hand. A laugh caught her attention. It was confident, bordering on haughty. Cassandra knew who it was before she turned her head. “And Lady Vivienne is in her element,” she said, viewing the Imperial Enchanter hold court several feet away. 

“Hmhm. She is known as Madame de Fer.”

“A fitting title,” Cassandra agreed, turning to face Josephine once again. “So you have only me to worry about?”

“Yes,” Josephine answered, her smile demure as her hand fluttered across her décolletage. 

“Josephine?” Cassandra drawled, her eyes wary. 

“Yes?”

“What are you doing?”

At first, Josephine looked surprised, but then she shook her head, realizing Cassandra would not be so obtuse. She gave Cassandra a smile; and this time it was genuine. “I am moving the pieces around the board, Lady Seeker.” 

Cassandra exhaled through her nose before giving her Ambassador a slight bow in understanding. “I see. I trust you’ll explain this to me later?” 

“If you wish. Or Leliana can, whatever you prefer?”

Cassandra shrugged. “Either way.” She hesitated briefly, but decided to proceed with the next statement just to make sure they were clear. “I’m assuming your actions are not sincere.” 

Shyly, Josephine looked away. “You are correct. But you are quite -”

Cassandra placed her hand on Josephine’s shoulder. “It’s alright, milady. Do I need to play along?”

Josephine placed her hand atop of Cassandra’s and gave it an affectionate squeeze. “No. You are doing just fine as is.” 

It wasn’t much longer before Josephine released Cassandra from her duties once she offered her sincerest apologies at possibly offending the Seeker. Josephine had sent her toward the east balcony and as she watched Cassandra walk away, she could still feel the slight warmth at her cheeks from the Seeker’s compliment. Instead of being insulted, Cassandra thanked Josephine for helping her navigate the treacherous “waters” of Orlesian politics, adding that Josephine did her job exceptionally well. It was a rare compliment from the Seeker and very sincere by the look on Cassandra’s face. “Goodness,” Josephine muttered to herself. If she wasn’t already smitten with Lavellan and if Leliana wasn’t…well, it would be very easy to get lost in the shine of the Seeker’s oft-hidden tenderness. 

To Cassandra’s amusement, she found the Inquisitor on the east balcony casually leaning a hip against the balustrade. The Inquisitor waved at her, urging her forward to enjoy the “remarkable” view. Three masked ladies curtsied politely at Cassandra as she walked past them, then in a rush of silks and giggles the ladies were gone. Shaking her head, Cassandra could only raise her hand and point a thumb behind her. 

Lavellan grinned. “My newest friends, of course. Who would have thought a simple elf of the Dales would be so popular at the Winter Palace?”

“Wonders shall never cease,” Cassandra dead-panned.

“They shall not! But it seems that I’m not the only elf of note here.” 

“Ambassador Briala?” Cassandra asked. “The one Duke Gaspard warned us about.”

“Yes, I had a chance meeting with her. Apparently there’s more to the story. A lot more. ”

“I’m shocked.” Cassandra declared as she lazily leaned her forearms against the balustrade, her eyes scanning the vast grounds below. The view, she could not argue, was quite nice. 

Lavellan chuckled then filled Cassandra in on what she needed to know. Leliana’s spies and Lavellan’s own conversations had already accumulated a wealth of leads. Quickly, they formulated a plan, deciding to split up in the interest of time. The Inquisitor would have Vivienne continue to discreetly work the guests for information, Cassandra was to investigate the Grand Apartments (as Lavellan had picked up on some whispers from the servants), while she would investigate the “occult advisor.” 

“The who?” Cassandra asked

“Apparently, an old acquaintance of Leliana’s." Lavellan could seem she had piqued Cassandra’s interest. “Someone who has Celene’s ear and someone I should be very cautious about.”

“Heed her warning, Inquisitor.” 

“I will, don’t worry.”

“What of Sera?” Cassandra asked.

“Have her go to the servant’s quarters.”

“Alone?”

Lavellan nodded, an amused look on her face. “Yes. Are you worried?”

“Of course not,” Cassandra replied with knotted eyebrows. “I know she is quite capable. I just…her predilection for mischief worries me. I never think of her as discreet.”

“Except when she is _absolutely_ discreet,” Lavellan teased. “About this mischief, you have personal experience?”

Cassandra growled. “I knew you were in on it.”

“Not now,” the Inquisitor said with a quiet laugh and a reassuring pat to the Seeker’s arm. “Be back here by the second bell. That’ll give us time to talk about what we’ve found. And if you find anything particularly gossipy, tell Leliana so she can add it to her, or rather, our arsenal. I swear it’s alarming the amount of information she can acquire in such a short amount of time. I’m afraid to know what she has on me.” 

“Yes,” Cassandra replied, taking the opportunity for a retaliatory tease. “You should be.” As she left the balcony, she swore she could feel the Inquisitor’s narrowed-eyes on her back. 

Without too much fuss, Cassandra made her way through the great palace only having to employ her best, “don’t-bother-me-or-I’ll-run-you-through” look once or twice. Approaching the royal wing, she saw that its entrance was manned by two Imperial guards. As she neared, she could hear them carping about being assigned such a menial duty. Plastering a genial smile upon her face, Cassandra knew she could use their puffed-up boredom to her advantage. She introduced herself, although they assured her she needed no introduction, and as suspected, they were quite keen to hear stories of the Inquisitor. She managed to quickly reel them in with one story in particular – that of the Archdemon. Of course, as the Seeker explained, she would have gladly given them all the glorious details if not for the fact, she had been knocked cold by a well-placed truncheon strike during the battle. A lie, but they didn’t know that. It wasn’t long before she had convinced them that Cullen would love to give them a first-hand account. 

Patiently, Cassandra waited as the two guards justified the abandonment of their post. “How often do we get the chance to hear such a story first hand?” The one guard said to the other. 

“True,” the other replied. “We’re only guarding a dilapidated wing anyway, right?” 

“Surely you’ll only be gone for a moment,” Cassandra urged. “And 'dilapidated' or not, no one would dare risk getting caught in the Royal Quarters.”

The larger guard nodded. “Yeah, she’s right. Besides the Seeker is right here. Who would come in? Let us go, hear the story and come back.”

Cassandra waved reassuring at the guards as they ran toward the ballroom. Once they were out of sight, she sighed in disgust. Celene really should vet her guards more carefully. 

Cassandra admired a nearby portrait of the Empress just long enough to ensure no eyes were upon her as she slipped into the hall. Feeling for the knife she had sheathed in her sash, it provided a modicum of comfort. It was a bit longer than the daggers Leliana preferred and more ceremonial than effective. Of course she wished for her sword but, as was common at these grand formals, the larger weapons were confiscated at the door and held in the armory. Cassandra hoped that she would not run into trouble, but she supposed having the knife was better than nothing. 

As she neared the top of a long staircase, she slowed to listen for any movement. Although she did not hear a sound, she moved cautiously, letting out small sigh of relief when the hallway looked completely deserted. Quickly checking for doors kept foolishly unlocked, she, surprisingly, found several. Hasty walk-throughs uncovered little of value. Although, she did find a locket with an interesting inscription. Finally she had found a locked door! A quick assessment of the lock had Cassandra reaching into her breast pocket for the set of lockpicks the Inquisitor had given her. She was definitely no rogue when it came to breaking and entering, but she could certainly handle these flimsy locks. The hubris of royalty never ceased to amaze her. 

As she bent to examine the lock once again, she heard a muffled scream. Straightening in alarm, Cassandra peered down the hall. Another scream and this time she was able to ascertain from where it came – three doors down. Rushing heedlessly toward the sound, Cassandra could see the door was slightly ajar. Without a thought, she flung the door open to find, what appeared to be, an elven servant begging for her life. A harlequin stood over her, looking as if they intended to murder her despite her pleas. Cassandra charged forward and as the Harlequin turned to her with surprise, she kicked the assassin squarely in the chest. It was enough to lift the rogue from her feet and right out of the open window. To her credit, the harlequin did not scream as she fell to her death. Cassandra grimaced as she heard the sound of a body hitting the ground below. 

She walked to the window to make sure the Harlequin was indeed dead. With a grim satisfaction, she turned from the window to the still cowering elf. “To your feet,” Cassandra commanded as she walked around the kneeling woman. “You have nothing to fear from me.” But she could see that the elf was not assuaged. Cassandra began to kneel, a kindness that the Seeker hoped would provide comfort to the still shaking elf, but she was stopped by the widening of the other woman’s eyes. Then a shaking hand was raised, a finger pointing at some phantom behind Cassandra’s back.

A curse had barely left her lips before she heard and felt a whoosh from behind. Spinning to face her attacker, she was greeted by the white of wide-eyes behind a mask and the sight of Leliana pulling her dagger from a second harlequin's rib cage. As the rogue's knees buckled, Leliana took care to help the woman to the floor, positioning her away from Cassandra and the kneeling elf. Cassandra watched as Leliana held the assassin's dying gaze. It was only for a snippet of time, a brief and wordless exchange of reluctant respect between two players of a cruel game. Then it was over, and Cassandra could see the slight rise and fall Leliana’s shoulders as she let out a breath of, what she assumed was, resignation and regret. 

“Tsk, tsk, Cassandra,” Leliana scolded as she straightened. “They always travel in pairs, you know?” 

Cassandra rolled her eyes, refusing to comment as she took her thumb and smeared away a splotch of blood from the Spymaster’s cheek. The act had surprised Leliana, but the Spymaster covered it with a well-worn smirk. “Mon dieu, saving your life can get a little messy,” she joked as she straightened her jacket and made sure her attire was free from blood splatter.

“You assume too much, but I thank you anyway. How long have you been sneaking about?”

“Long enough. Were you seriously going to pick that lock?”

“You are not the only one around here that can pick lock,” Cassandra huffed. 

“I’ve seen you pick a lock; or I should say, attempt to pick a lock?” Leliana teased as she stepped past Cassandra to help the still trembling elf to her feet. “Are you hurt?” She asked, holding her hand out.

“Yes…I mean no,” the elf stammered before cautiously taking Leliana's hand. “I don’t think I’m hurt.” 

Leliana smiled at her kindly. “What’s your name?”

“Juna.”

“What are you doing in the Royal Quarters?” Cassandra asked brusquely. 

“No one’s supposed to be here!” Juna exclaimed. 

“And?” Cassandra impatiently inquired, earning her a look from Leliana. 

Gently, Leliana took the elf by the arm, leading her to sit in a nearby chair. “Here,” she said. “Sit for a moment. Explain this to us, perhaps we can help you.” 

“Help?” The small elf was unconvinced for she’d been fooled by shems before. “Maybe…maybe they weren’t after me.”

“Maker preserve me,” Cassandra groaned. “Of course not.”

Leliana put a hand up to stop Cassandra from saying anything more before focusing on the elf. “Come now, did we not save you from being eviscerated by not one but two assassins? Surely you aren’t here of your own volition. Who sent you? Maybe they knew that you would not make it back alive, no?” 

A look of disdain crossed the elf’s features. “Briala,” she spat. “This is, or was the Grand Duchess’ quarters.” Then she launched quite readily into the tale of being sent a coded message, which according to her, could have only come from the elven Ambassador. Apparently, Briala had a serious mistrust of the Grand Duke suspecting him of plotting against the Empress. Although this wing had been sealed due to some damage, she wanted someone to search his sister’s old room for incriminating evidence. Instead, Juna, in her anger at apparently being “setup,” chose to divulge something quite incriminating against Briala. 

“Go back to the ballroom,” Cassandra ordered her. “Find Commander Cullen. The Inquisition will keep you safe.” 

After Juna scampered out of the room, Cassandra placed a hand on her hip and sighed. 

“Are you surprised?” Leliana asked. 

Cassandra thought about it. “That her Radiance was sleeping with her elven handmaiden?” She shook her head. “Should I be? Sex, intrigue and nobility. Is it not normal?”

Leliana’s mouth twitched in a hint of a smile. “Indeed. You say you are not surprised. Yet, you sound so disappointed all the same.”

Cassandra shrugged. “How do you say it here in Orlais? _‘Comme il faut’_?”

“Not quite,” Leliana said as she walked toward the door. “But close. Regardless, it is valuable information. It gives Briala motive, and it gives us plenty of leverage shall we need it.”

“Isn’t it more detrimental to Celene?”

“It isn’t good, of course, but it is just as harmful to Briala. Remember that very recently Celene burned the elven slums to quell an uprising, which some say Gaspard had a hand in sparking.”

Of course Cassandra remembered. She and Leliana were informed of the event as they were making plans to travel to Kirkwall. She reminded Leliana of that fact. 

“Oh,” Leliana tilted her head. “So we were. Anyway,” she continued, “if this were to get out…some will think Briala, viewed as a revolutionary, had betrayed all by sleeping with an Empress that would cut them down with a mere gesture of a hand. She loses standing and much needed power to achieve her goals to improve the lot of her people. Her Radiance, on the other hand, well some of the rumors will be confirmed. Her willingness to consider change may be viewed simply as a favor to her elvhen lover. It will be justification for some that she is unfit to rule. The Grand Duke would gain an advantage. She will not want to risk it. Neither of them will.”  


“Sometimes I cannot be more grateful to be so far removed from the Nevarran throne.”

Leliana laughed. “I admit, it would be strange to address you as, ‘Your Highness.’” She laughed again as Cassandra made a sour face. “Come, I think we have found enough, yes? We should head back to the ballroom before it is noticed that we are gone.”

Cassandra agreed with a nod and they slipped out of the room. As the headed toward the stairwell, they heard voices coming up from the bottom. “The guards,” Cassandra whispered. “They’re back. Cullen must not have been very compelling.” 

“Shocking,” Leliana wise-cracked as her eyes quickly searched for an escape route. Leliana darted into a darkened vestibule, pulling the Seeker with her. It was small, but they would have to make it work. Leliana could see that, even though they were standing practically shoulder to shoulder, a part of Cassandra’s body was still exposed. Wrapping her arms around Cassandra’s waist, Leliana boldly pulled her close. She could feel the Seeker tense, but there was nothing she could do about it. A moment’s discomfort was better than having to dispatch two Imperial guards. 

“Leli-”

Leliana shook her head and shushed the Seeker as she heard the footsteps nearing. She felt Cassandra take a deep breath before the Seeker pushed them further into the vestibule, her hands resting on the wall above Leliana’s head. As Cassandra’s solid weight pressed into her, the marble wall cool against her back, Leliana thought her heart might beat out of her chest . She could feel the Seeker’s breath against her ear, and it felt measured, slower than it should be. Leliana tried to pull back, to tilt her head so she could see Cassandra’s face, but the Seeker only tucked in closer. 

“Hold still,” Cassandra whispered. “They’re close and I don’t want to hurt them. ”

Leliana nodded and tried to be still as Cassandra requested, but she couldn’t halt the small shiver that ran up her spine. To be honest, at this moment, Leliana would have done her damnedest to do anything the Seeker requested. Rational thought seemed to leave her as Cassandra’s spice and leather-tinged fragrance filled her nostrils. It was all she could do to concentrate on _not focusing_ on the feel of Cassandra’s hips against hers. She bit her lower lip and willed herself to remain still, even though instinct wanted to have her do quite the opposite. Just then Cassandra shifted, ever so slightly, her leg fitting perfectly between Leliana’s. Had she not been so aroused by Cassandra’s small, but surprised gasp, she would have noticed her own and had been mortified by making such a noise when she was _'working'_. 

The guards had made it up the stairs either much too soon or much too slowly. Leliana couldn’t decide which it were. As the guards passed their hiding spot, both she and Cassandra held their breaths. As she heard them walk down the hall, she could feel the Seeker relax and put some space between them. But then she heard one of them say that they had forgotten something downstairs and Leliana couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the situational cliché. 

“By the Maker,” she heard Cassandra mutter and Leliana was thinking the same thing as the other woman pushed into her once again. 

Once they were sure the guards were really gone, Cassandra again put space between them. The silence was now awkward and Cassandra's eyes fell everywhere but upon her. 

“Cass-,” she began, but was halted by Cassandra’s shaking head.

“Let’s not waste time, Leliana.”

Leliana’s shoulder’s fell. Cassandra was right, of course. But that didn’t stop her from feeling the little prickles of foolish disappointment. “I think we should find a new way back to the ballroom. I noticed earlier that all these rooms have ledges.” 

Cassandra nodded once, a determined look on her face as she led her to a room that she had previously searched. Cassandra walked quickly toward the window, flinging it open and sticking her head out before waving Leliana over. “Here.” 

Pursing her lips, Leliana moved toward the window before coming to an abrupt halt. She looked at Cassandra with an earnest wonderment on her face and it stopped Cassandra dead in her tracks. She hadn’t seen that look from the Spymaster in such a long time. “What if Celene and Briala really had a une liaison?” Leliana asked. 

Cassandra knitted her brow. “A love affair? For love?”

“Yes,” Leliana chuckled at Cassandra’s bewilderment. “Le grand amour. Would it be so hard to believe?” 

“I don’t know,” Cassandra said rubbing at the back of her neck. “Maybe..." Cassandra shook her head frustration. They didn't have time for this useless speculation. "Either way, what does it matter? What did it get them? Burned slums and political instability. Heartache? Deceits? Assassination attempts? Hardly seems worth it. Come, it's silly to wonder about such things," she waved Leliana toward the window once again.

Cassandra was right, of course. Leliana wasn’t sure why she even brought it up. A brief moment of hope…of a shared understanding, perhaps? Although Cassandra’s pragmatism was not unexpected it could be, on occasion, so utterly crushing. Leliana sighed and looked out the window. “Should be an easy to climb down.”

“Speak for yourself,” Cassandra joked, but it received nary a smile from Leliana. As the other women took her leave, Cassandra couldn’t ignore the tightening of her chest and she grabbed at the Spymaster’s hand. “A moment,” she pleaded. After a long pause, which they didn’t really have time for, Cassandra finally decided that maybe some of her ‘walls’ were unnecessary. “I didn't mean to snap at you. I...it would be much nicer to think that they did. Honestly, I would like to believe that they truly loved each other, rather than having it all be part of The Game,” she finally admitted. “Maybe it makes more sense…all the sacrifices.” Reaching into her pocket, Cassandra pulled out the locket she had found earlier. She held it out for Leliana.

With a bemused look upon her face, Leliana took the locket from Cassandra. It was a fine piece, simple but elegant. She flipped it open and read the inscription. With a sigh she closed it and put it back into her pocket. “Fantastically romantic and politically dangerous for Celene to have kept such a trinket.”

“True.” Cassandra sighed, weighing her next words carefully. “But in the end it is all we have left, those little trinkets…like dried flowers,” she said tenderly. “Perhaps it was too hard for Celene to resist having a memento to remind her that she was loved? I’m sure it could be lonely for her…on her darkest days, a comfort like that could be worth more than an empire, I suppose.”

Leliana could not keep Cassandra’s gaze and she did not trust herself to speak. Instead she tugged gently at Cassandra’s sleeve and slipped out the window. 

Hours later, after they had routed out Grand Duchess Florianne’s deception, Cassandra found herself weary and quite ready to leave the Winter Palace far behind her. 

“Well that’s a look that says it all.”

Cassandra turned her head just enough to cast a sideways glance at the Inquisitor. “It’s been a long night.” 

“You, dearest Seeker, have a penchant for understatement.” Lavellan smirked. 

Cassandra shrugged nonchalantly and in companionable silence, they each took a moment to, once again, look at the view from the east balcony. That is until Vivienne strode in as if nothing had happened, requesting the Inquisitor’s presence. 

“A moment, Vivienne?” 

Lavellan’s voice was jocular but Cassandra could see from the set of her shoulders she was just as tired as she. Once Lady Vivienne nodded and departed just as quickly as she appeared, Cassandra nudged the Inquisitor lightly. “No one would blame you if you said ‘no’ once in a while.” 

The Inquisitor shrugged. “I should be happy that Vivienne thinks enough of me to parade me around like a prized pet, no?” Lavellan raised her hand before Cassandra could counter. “I know, it’s not like that. Forgive me, as you said, it’s been a long night.”

“Indeed.”

“Well,” Lavellan slapped her hands against the balustrade. “I’m off to schmooze. By the way, have you seen our Spymaster?”

Cassandra straightened. “No. Why?”

“Nothing terribly important. It’s just that…well, I told her that we had gained a new Imperial Liaison and she seemed non-too-pleased about it. Come to think of it, Lady Vivienne was also rather perturbed.”

“Who?”

“Morrigan. Celene’s occult advisor. An apostate, just so you know.”

“Why not an apostate?” Cassandra dead-panned. Then she narrowed her eyes. “I’ve heard of this Morrigan.” 

“I’m sure you have,” the Inquisitor said knowingly. “I last saw Leliana heading toward the garden, if you have a mind to check on her.”

“I’m sure Leliana is fine,” Cassandra remarked, her eyes once again on the horizon.

Lavellan shrugged. “Ma nuvenin. I’m off then. Sleep well, Seeker,” she said over her shoulder. “Tomorrow is a new day.”

In a secluded garden, Leliana watched the mage, whom she had once travelled across Ferelden with, leave through its heathered gates. She let out a breath, which was surprisingly more relieved than angry. She looked up at the terrace above her. “You can come out from the shadows now, Seeker,” she called.

Sheepishly, Cassandra stepped out of darkened corner. She looked down upon Leliana and waved hesitantly. She hadn’t meant to intrude, and she couldn’t hear what was said, but truth be told, the body-language of the two women left little unsaid.

Leliana motioned at her. “Come down,” she urged. “Or have you taken a liking to darkened corners?” 

“I didn’t hear anything,” Cassandra offered as she took the last step, seeking to reassure the Spymaster. 

Sitting on a small bench near the fountain, Leliana patted the space beside her. “I know. Regardless, in the end there was nothing to be heard.”

“So _that_ is Morrigan?” Cassandra asked as she sat down. 

“It is.” 

“How are you?”

Leliana shrugged. “It matters not, but since you asked: I’m fine.”

Cassandra was skeptical but she did not push. “She looks a bit different than I imagined.” 

“Really? How so?”

“Hmm. The way you spoke of her…I expected…warts. But I saw no warts. She’s really very…attractive.”

Leliana slapped her thighs and made a sound that, Cassandra assumed, was the Orlesian equivalent of her own disgusted grunt. Cassandra laughed, gently grabbing one of Leliana’s hands. “I’m teasing. I could hardly see her from my hidey-hole. But of course, she is hideous.” 

“She is far from hideous,” Leliana pouted. “She is beautiful, and cunning, and treacherous, and–”

“An all-around horrible, nasty, person,” Cassandra chimed in. 

“And someone whom could be very valuable to the Inquisition,” Leliana admitted begrudgingly. She looked at Cassandra. “But she can be cruel, Cassandra. Morrigan only helps when it serves her purposes. I will tell the Inquisitor this.”

“As you should.” Cassandra took a breath as if she were going to say more, than thought better of it. 

“I knew she was here, of course,” Leliana confessed. “I suspected she would come into play at some point."

"What did she say?"

"She told me that I had changed…when we were talking. I told her everyone changes. But then she said something peculiar.”

“What?"

“That she had hoped differently.” Leliana blew out a breath, before shaking her head in confusion. “It is late, no?”

“It is.”

After a moment, Leliana cast a genuinely shy look toward the Seeker, who found it so damned endearing. “Do you really think she’s attractive? And did you really say, ‘hidey-hole’?” 

Cassandra smiled as music from the string quartet flowed faintly into the garden. “They’re playing again. How long do these things usually last?”

Leliana tilted her head. “I suppose they could go on until morning. It has, after all, become a celebration. Celene and Briala. I did not think the Inquisitor to be so bold, but then again, I am not surprised. Quite the outcome, don’t you think? And you didn’t answer my question.”

“You end almost all your sentences in a question, Leliana,” Cassandra couldn’t help but kid her. Leliana slapped at the Seeker's arm eliciting a wide smile on Cassandra's face. “Hidey-hole is a word. I’ve heard Sera say it several times.” 

“Fine,” Leliana huffed. “I need not make disparaging remarks about other women. Morrigan is very stunning, and I know other’s find her –”

“Leliana, enough. I may not have known you then, when you travelled with Morrigan, and perhaps you have changed. But I value the woman you are now…right here. And the woman I know does not need compare herself to others.”

A small smile graced Leliana’s face and she bumped her shoulder into Cassandra’s. “I’m being petty and foolish, no?”

“A little,” Cassandra said gently. “But it’s hard being perfect all the time.”

Leliana laughed. “You’ve become so…such a good friend to me, Cassandra. Thank you.”

“I will admit,” Cassandra said softly, “when the world is falling apart, it is good to know that you are here too.”

"Falling apart together," Leliana whispered. Once again, Cassandra’s words filled her to near bursting with an emotion she was coming dangerously close to identifying. It scared her and she fought between wanting to run and never wanting to leave the Seeker’s side. She felt Cassandra place her hand over hers, as if the other woman could sense this very thought. Cassandra was always so much braver than she. Slowly, Leliana turned her hand so that it was palm up, and she almost cried when Cassandra’s fingers entwined with her own. Then all the doubt, self-recriminations and justifications of why this wasn’t a good idea rushed into her head. 

Leliana took a deep breath and Cassandra could tell she was winding up to say something that Cassandra wasn’t quite ready to hear – good or bad. She squeezed Leliana’s hand. “Perhaps tonight,” Cassandra gently advocated, “we can just enjoy the moment for once? I am too tired to make sense of anything more.”

Leliana pursed her lips then nodded, lying her head upon the Seeker’s shoulder. “Yes, let’s enjoy the night,” she sighed. But she knew the conversation would have to be had sooner than later. “What shall we do? Sit here until they put us both in a carriage back to Skyhold.” 

“That would be lovely,” Cassandra said, her shoulder’s shaking slightly with a chuckle. “Do you think they’ll be along soon?”

"No."

“Well that settles that, then,” Cassandra replied and she could feel Leliana’s smile against her shoulder. “We could dance.” 

“What’s this?” Leliana asked. 

“What?”

“Your new found love of dance? I’ve only seen you dance a handful of times and quite reluctantly, I might add. Now you want to dance all the time,” she teased.

“Only with you.”

Startled by Cassandra’s boldness, Leliana’s head shot up to look squarely into the Seeker’s eyes. “Cassandra,” she began cautiously, “what is happening?”

Cassandra thought about it for a moment, a thousand denials rushing through her head, but Leliana’s eyes pleaded with her to speak the truth. “I find,” she began quietly, “that I am finally curious.” 

Leliana could feel the rush of heat that undoubtedly flushed her cheeks. “You are?” She whispered. 

“I am.” 

As Cassandra leaned in, Leliana put her hands on the other woman’s chest to stop her. She could see the quick flash of confusion then hurt cross Cassandra’s face. Leliana shook her head, acting quickly to alleviate the other woman’s fear. “No. It’s not,” she whispered fervently, cupping Cassandra’s face. “Please understand…someone is coming.” Then she removed her hands and scooted away from the Seeker. 

Moments later, Cullen entered the garden. “There you are,” he stated quite unnecessarily. 

“Yes,” Cassandra said with a measured tone. “Here we are.” She was quite sure she wanted to run him through with her sword.


	10. Drinks after Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes they just want a beer after work. Like normal folk fighting the end of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know you all are probably gonna hate me, but I had to. The good news is that I've got a clear picture of the next couple of chapters. There's more romancy stuff and angsty stuff (lots of angsty stuff) ahead. I hope there will be a chuckle or two in there as well. And for all you Morrigan fans, stay tuned. 
> 
> Also, I've only edited this chapter a couple of times so there will probably be some errors etc...

* * *

If Krem had to pick his favorite time of the day, he’d pick right about now. It was late afternoon, just about dusk, when the jagged silhouettes of the mountains dominated over the setting sun. A drowsy light shaded the valleys and it served to remind Krem that he had survived another day. As the Chargers rode toward the towering gates of Skyhold, Krem took a moment to appreciate the scenery. The air was still crisp even though spring was nearing and he could tell his cheeks were ruddy from prolonged exposure. As soon as they crossed the bridge, stable hands were ready to take their horses; giving them the care they deserved under the watchful eye of Master Dennet. As Krem handed over the reins, he took in the familiar sounds of life in the fortress: the clang of weaponry; the vocalizations of various farm animals required to keep the residents fed, or the dull clicks and thuds of merchants closing up their carts for the day. It was all overlaid by the hum of voices and the clang of armors as soldiers walked past for shift change. Marveling at the moment, Krem could not believe his good fortune in a world where fortune seemed to be lacking for so many. 

Skinner’s hacking cough broke the comfortable silence amongst the group. The city elf had been fighting a cold for the last week. “Blasted shems,” she growled. 

“What did we do this time?” Krem asked with a roll of his eyes.

“Your blasted diseases, that’s what.” Skinner’s prickly demeanor had not been dulled by her illness. 

Stitches, the company medic, stepped out from behind Krem. “How did I know we’d get blamed for your cold?” He asked, digging in his pocket for an herbal candy, which the grumpy elf took begrudgingly. 

“Come to the Herald’s rest,” Krem urged. “A strong bit of drink might make you feel better.” 

“Nah,” the elf replied, popping the candy into her mouth. “I feel like shit and I smell of spider guts, thanks to that jackass,” she pointed at Rocky, their dwarven sapper. 

“That ain’t on me,” Rocky protested. “I warned you.”

“You’re supposed to warn before you explode things!” 

“Hey when I see a big fuckin’ spider, they go boom. Sorry. That’s what I do. You were standing too close.”

“That’s because I was stabbing it, you ass!”

“Don’t you mean you were stabbing it in the ass? Damn, being sick sure has messed up your grammar.”

Krem sighed as the two Chargers continued to argue over who was to blame for Skinner’s unique aroma. He shook his head thinking that, all in all, it had been a productive day. The Chargers were tasked with clearing a den of spiders along a nearby trade route. Krem had to admit it seemed like a “menial” task for the squad when Scout Harding first relayed the request. Not to sound arrogant, but the Charger’s skill set was well above the “go kill some spiders,” kind. Krem could hardly hide his frown of annoyance when Harding offered a few of her scouts for backup. To the Void with that! Krem would sooner go back to Tevinter if the Chargers couldn’t handle a few blasted spiders!

The ever observant Harding must have picked up on his irritation. With a smile she walked back on the offer – sort of. “Reports say that those spiders are…big, but,” she said, “I can always find some other use for those scouts if you don’t want ‘em.” Politely, Krem accepted the assignment but declined the extra help. Harding tilted her head in understanding as she handed him a map to the spider den. Sauntering back to the training yard, Harding threw a warning over her shoulder. “Be careful,” she cautioned. “I don’t think ‘big’ is the right word for those spiders.” Frowning, Krem folded the map and tucked it under his cuirass. If spider extermination was what the Inquisition wanted, then they’d get the best damn spider extermination ever. Besides Bull was out with the Dorian doing something or other, Krem wasn’t sure what, so it was up to him to keep the rest of the crew busy. And with this lot it was better to be busy than bored.

As expected, the crew mumbled and grumbled their way out to the spider den, having been suitably offended by the perceived “lack of respect.” Krem told them to hush it and not to be so self-important, even though he was feeling exactly the same. So it was with a strange sense of relief when Krem realized this wasn’t just a run-of-the-mill spider clearing. Nope. This was a wicked infestation of giant, venom-spitting, flesh-mangling spiders, which, may, or may not, have been possessed by demons. With their morale heightened, they debated the spider question on the way back to Skyhold, failing to come to a consensus. Rocky was certain of it, but Dalish (the company’s elven apostate) just thought he was being a “wee baby.” Krem had a tendency to agree with Rocky. He’d seen enough of magic to know it had a hand in creating those creatures. Thankfully, in the end, the deed was done. Yeah it was a real pain in the ass dealing with the spiders and their field medic, Stitches, was working overtime to keep them in antivenom, but it was glorious to know the Inquisition didn’t send them out on some pathetic errand.  
“C’mon, Skinner. Have a drink with us,” Krem urged. “We just killed us a whole heap of really nasty face-eating spiders. And nobody died!”

“Aye!” Dalish chimed in. “ Terrible creatures, those were. I still don’t understand how they got so big! I got me shivers thinking about the pile of bones in the back of that cave.”

“Demons,” Rocky pronounced. 

“Well, they won’t be bothering nobody now.” Stitches offered smugly. 

“You got that right,” Krem agreed with a wink. He turned his attention back toward the ailing Skinner. “One drink. It’ll be good for ya. Isn’t that right Stitches?”

“Meh,” he shrugged. “Couldn’t hurt.” 

Skinner wasn’t convinced. “I smell.” 

“You don’t smell that bad,” Dalish encouraged. “Well, not nearly as bad as Rocky.”

“Hey,” the dwarf protested. 

“Dalish is right,” Krem nodded. “He’s so smelly, drinks are on him.” 

“The void I am,” the dwarven sapper growled. Surreptitiously, he took a whiff of his underarm. “Bollocks,” he mumbled. 

“In that case,” Skinner said with a slap to Rocky’s back, “maybe I’ll have two!”

“Chargers!” Krem was unnecessarily surprised to hear the raucous greeting from their leader. Bull was in his usual spot, slouched near a back corner of the Herald’s Rest. More often than not, you could find the Chargers sprawled out there, drinking and telling stories about their day. 

Currently, the tavern was only half-full but that would soon change as more of Skyhold’s inhabitants put their day to rest. The tavern was welcoming, with the Bard, Maryden already playing her songs against the backdrop of a roaring fire. Krem gave the minstrel a shy smile as he moved past, ruing the large and impatiently summoning hand of The Iron Bull. 

“What took you so long?” Bull pushed a mug toward Krem. “Here drink, all of you. Harding told me you boys were out killing itty bitty spiders. Should have been back hours ago.”

“My mother’s ass,” Skinner coughed. “Nothin’ small about those things.” 

“Or your mother’s ass,” Rocky joked, getting a good laugh from the table. 

Skinner pointed her finger in warning at the dwarf. “Too soon, you bugger.”

Krem put his hand on her arm, and with a laugh eased it back down to the table. Not that he thought that Skinner’s threat wasn’t in jest, but it never hurt to be sure when dealing with the volatile elf. “Skinner’s right. Biggest spiders I’ve ever seen.”

Bull took a big swig of his drink and belched. He was unimpressed.

“Nice, Chief. The Qun doesn’t speak to manners?” 

“Why, Krem? Have I offended you?” Bull smiled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Krem was about to retort, but then he noticed Bull wrinkle his nose, as if he had finally caught a whiff of something foul. 

“Hold that…”

“What’s that smell?” Bull asked, ignoring Krem. He waved a hand in front of his face. “It smells like ass.”

“…thought, Chief,” Krem finished his sentence under his breath.

“Dammit!” Skinner rose quickly from the table, but not before Krem could get a hold of her wrist.

“Hold on,” he urged with a laugh. “Bar keep!” He yelled. “A round over here. And put it on this one’s tab!” He pointed at Rocky. Sometimes it was hard being the second in command of this company. 

Sometime later, when most of them were sated with the warmth of ale in their bellies, Sera strolled in, practically crawling over Krem’s lap to occupy the chair next to Bull. Getting herself situated, the puckish elf blew Krem a kiss and proceeded to order a round of drinks. She was followed by Blackwall, who silently took a seat at the end of the table. 

“You’re back!” Bull exclaimed.

“Obviously,” Sera said with a yawn. “Early this morning. Barely light when we rode through the gates.” 

“Why not stay an extra night? Take in some of that Orlesian hospitality.” Bull gave her a nudge.

“Wha? Are you serious? Piss on that. Throat-cutters the whole bunch. The place reeked of assholes. Rich ones at that – extra smelly.”

“So you don’t recommend it, then?” Krem queried with a straight-face. 

Sera rolled her eyes. “Oh sure, if you like twinkly masks and sharp teeth. Be my guest. I couldn’t wait to leave it, actually. Friggin jerks in need of arrows, if you ask me.” 

“That’s a bit harsh,” said a voice from the din. Sera looked up to see Cullen and Varric sitting down to join them. Cullen gave her a wink to signal that he actually agreed with her. 

“She gets grumpy when she doesn’t get enough beauty sleep,” Varric observed wryly. 

Sera made a face at Varric then directed her attention toward the Commander. “Shouldn’t you be all frowny-face over some maps or something?” 

It was Cullen’s turn to yawn. “Yes, but I’m afraid I’ve stared at the blasted thing for so long my eyes were starting to cross.”

“Well then,” Bull said, as he leaned over to pour him a mug of ale, “let’s finish the job.” 

The table laughed, and Krem discretely called the barman over to ask if he’d bring over a hefty plate of whatever meat was on the roasting spit. He’d been around long enough to know that all ale and no food, when Bull was involved, could have dire consequences in the morning. Varric noticed and gave the Lieutenant a thankful nod. 

Bull slapped the table. “Dammit, we need the whole lot in here. The Boss, Josie, and that sexy Seeker. Get Red in here too, make it a real party.”

“The Seeker, sexy?’ You’ve had too many drinks already, Tiny.” Varric said with a laugh.

Bull sloppily waved him off, and Krem discreetly pushed the plate of food toward him. “Oh look, Chief. I think it's druffalo; your favorite.” 

Without looking, Bull reached for a piece and shoved it into his mouth, causing Krem to sigh in relief. “Horse shit, Varric. It’s the armor and you know it,” Bull argued around a mouthful. “Besides can you blame me? I’m tired of looking at all your boring faces. No offense.” His half-assed appeasement did not prevent Sera from giving one of his horns a good yank. “Hey now! Careful that turns me on.” 

“Gross,” Sera deadpanned. “But too right. Ain’t nothing wrong with more ladies. Woof.” She then giggled stupidly, while elbowing Bull in the ribs. 

“You and your silver tongue,” Varric teased her. 

“Oh pardon me, professor. Suppose I’ll never write great works of literature like, _‘Swords and Shields’_.” 

That garnered a grunt from Grim, the most reticent of the Chargers. 

Varric put up his hands in appeasement. “I’m just sayin’, no need to get all…however it is you get. Anyway, I believe the ever-so lovely Nightingale is probably already ensconced in that shadowy lair of hers. Good luck getting her down here to ‘party.’ And it is true the Inquisitor is no stranger to a good time, as we all know, but the Seeker is a…queller of good times extraordinaire. Proceed at your own risk.”

Sera was not dissuaded. In her estimations it was always the ones wound real tight that ended up being the most fun. She was just about to jump out of her seat to fetch the aforementioned ladies, when Cullen raised his hand to halt her. 

“A moot point. I saw Leliana earlier, she’s…working and so is Lady Montilyet. And the Inquisitor and Cassandra are not here.”

Sera slumped back into her seat. “Piss. I knew that.”

Bull looked surprised. “They didn’t come back with you?” Cullen shook his head in response. He still wasn’t sure how much to divulge to the Ben-Hassrath spy. He usually just followed the Inquisitor’s or Cassandra’s lead in most cases.

“Lady Josephine said as much this morning. Lady Vivienne stayed behind as well.” Blackwall chimed in. 

“Why do you do that?” Sera asked, eyes narrowed at the warden.

“Do what?” Blackwall looked confused.

"Why can't they be just Cassandra or Vivienne or Josephine?”

“It’s called being polite. You should try it sometime.”

“There’s polite and then there’s that thing you do.”

“Andraste’s grace, I’ll probably regret this, but what is it that I do?”

“I mean, you pick and choose who to call ‘Lady’ like all fancy pants.”

“I’m just respecting the title they’ve earned.”

“Riiiight. Yet when someone calls you ‘Warden’ Blackwall you get all uncomfortable like you’re shitting out a peach pit.” 

Reaching for a piece of meat, Blackwall groaned at the comparison. “Maker’s mercy. Varric’s right; you do have a way with words. I don’t know, Sera. People tell me that’s just the way I look: uncomfortable.” He leaned forward. “Is this because I don’t address you as, ‘Lady’.”

“What?” Sera leaned back against the wall. “Pffft. No. The sound of it makes me wanna hurl cookies; and not the good ones. Only the ones with raisins. Look it’s like this: I’m just, ‘Sera.’ Small name for normal people. Easy.” 

“I see,” Blackwall replied. 

"So do I," Sera retorted. 

After a momentary bit of awkward silence, Skinner started sniggering, which was bizarre because the city elf rarely smiled let alone a smile with some sort of sound attached. “That was weird,” she slurred. “It’s all tension, but not the sexual kind because that one,” she pointed at Sera, “likes women.”

The table erupted into a raucous laughter and Krem placed his hand on Skinner’s shoulder. “Okay, it looks like someone needs to hit the sack.” 

Skinner tried to swipe his hand away. “I don’t need a nursemaid? I feel fine!” Krem figured that she felt more than fine. Skinner was absolutely sloshed. Krem suspected that the city elf’s illness exacerbating the effects of the ale. He’d certainly had never seen Skinner this drunk before. 

“I got her, Krem.” Stitches stood and walked around the table to help the inebriated woman from her seat. “I’ve had enough too, plus I got a tonic for this one. Should make her less murderous in the morning.” 

Krem laughed. “Less murderous would be good.”

Blackwall took the opportunity to excuse himself from the table. “I’ll help.”

Cullen looked up at the man. “You sure?” He respected Blackwall as he respected all Grey Wardens. His brief, yet impactful meeting, with The Hero of Fereldan solidifying his admiration of the Order. 

Blackwall nodded and said his goodbyes. He looked over to see Stitches struggling with a now passed-out elf. He tapped the medic on the shoulder and took Skinner from him, lifting her easily. After the burly warden left, Bull reached over and gently flicked Sera on the nose. “Buzzkill.”

“Yeah what gives, Buttercup?” Varric asked. “You do seem to bust on him a lot.”

“Oh like you on Cassandra **all the time** ,” she replied with little tolerance for hypocrisy. 

Varric shrugged and chuckled. “Okay. But we have a history. As in she held a dagger to my throat but, of course, that was some time ago.”

“Yeah so get over it already, yeah?” Sera rolled her eyes. As if she hadn’t heard that story before. “And I have no problem with Beardy-face. He’s alright. He’s handy in a battle, yeah? Can take about a thousand punches. Don’t mind standing behind his shield to do my bit. I dunno though. Somethin’ off…sorta sad, that one.”

“So you’re on his ass, because you think he’s sad?”

“Sure. Why not? If he’s annoyed with me, maybe it’d take his mind off the other things. Anyways, his puppy dog eyes over Cassandra…” she made a vomiting motion.

“What’s that?” Cullen asked.

“Jealous?” Bull teased. 

“Who you askin’?” Sera retorted. 

Varric snickered into his mug. “I hate to break it to all the hapless suitors, but the Seeker’s already taken.”

“Duh.” Sera said. She laughed at Cullen’s look of confusion. “Oh this one over here.” She thumbed at the Commander. “Ain’t he cute?”

“What’s the pot up to?” Bull asked.

“Lemme see,” Krem reached into his pocket and pulled out a well-worn sheet of parchment. “A couple silvers if it happens by month’s end.” 

Varric shook his head. “Nah. Too soon.”

Krem narrowed his eyes at the dwarf. “C’mon, Varric. Love is in the air.”

“Have you met them?” Varric joked.

“What are you all prattling on about?” Cullen was beginning to get rather annoyed. 

"Oh boy," Bull said as he downed the last of his drink. “Captain Oblivious. Must have something to do with that furry thing around his neck.”

Sera started laughing so hard she almost fell over and Krem just shook his head and continued tapping his foot to Maryden’s singing. Varric on the other hand, clapped Cullen on the shoulder and sighed. “I shall enlighten you on one condition: if any of this gets back to the Seeker or Nightingale, we shall disavow all knowledge and you, dear sir, will be sold down the river so fast your head will spin. Deal?”

A while later, Cullen left the tavern with his head significantly fuzzier than when he entered. The chill air felt cool against his face, which was flushed by the warmth of a fire and too much drink. Looking up at the stars, he tried to put his finger on what he was feeling. Not sad, per se, but perhaps disappointed. It wasn’t like Cassandra and he were involved in a grand romance. In fact, Cassandra wasn’t even aware that Cullen was pondering the idea of a grand romance. He laughed at himself. What a fool he’d been. As he walked back to his quarters he wondered at all the hurdles his two…friends, would face in the coming months, if not years. He sent a wish up to the Maker that he might see it in his heart to be kinder to them. 

Miles away the Inquisitor and Cassandra sat around a small table in a tavern similar to the Herald’s Rest, but not nearly as warm, inviting or clean. Thinking of the Herald’s Rest caused the Inquisitor to feel a brief pang of homesickness. It was a strange thought, really. When had she begun to think of Skyhold as home? With a sigh she tucked into her cold, but perfectly adequate dinner. She wondered what Skyhold’s chef, Mistress Bolgier had offered for dinner. Across from her, Cassandra attacked the remaining portion of her bread, her perfect incisors tearing savagely at the loaf. The sight caused the Inquisitor to let loose a chuckle, which stopped Cassandra in mid chew. “Why does the sight of me eating cause you such joy?” Cassandra asked suspiciously. 

Lavellan shook her head and sipped at her soup. Early this morning, they had left the luxury of Orlais with its expensive food and drink, fancy finery, and white-gloved hands of nobility that hadn’t seen a lick of hard labor in all their lives. Such a contrast to now, as they sat a day’s ride from the Winter Palace. They sat, eating simply in the midst of hard-working farmers still covered in the grime of trying to sustain themselves and their small community. But there was genuine laughter in this place and Lavellan would pick this rotted-wood tavern over a palace a hundred times over. And she was absolutely certain Cassandra felt the same. Vivienne, on the other hand, certainly did not and she retired early mumbling something about the smell of goats. “Thanks for coming, Cassandra.”

“It is my duty,” Cassandra said not looking up from her meal. “There is no need for thanks.”

“Looking for a wyvern’s heart isn’t exactly an Inquisition priority. I could tell you were disappointed to not go back…with the rest.”

She watched as Cassandra shrugged. “I was at first.”

“And now you’re not?”

“I don’t know. I fear I may have been…hasty about some things.”

The Inquisitor raised a brow. “Really. Such as?”

Cassandra did not answer for a long moment, then she frowned and shook her head. “It is not important.”

Lavellan sighed and pushed her own plate away, feeling sufficiently nourished. “Okay, let’s do this. It’s the perfect time, and I can no longer bear to wait for this to happen on its own. I’ve seen glaciers move faster than you two.” 

Cassandra looked up from her plate, her brow furrowed. “What are you going on about?”

“Ask me.”

“Ask you what?”

"Whatever it is that's been on the tip of your tongue all day. I saw you out of the corner of my eye, looking at me, inhaling, exhaling with great flourish,” she teased. “I was assuming you were waiting for Vivienne to retire, and she has, so spill it.” 

“Bah,” Cassandra spat, her mind still mired in indecision on whether to have this conversation or not. She shook her head. “I said it isn't important.”

Lavellan sighed. “We’re friends, Cassandra. Something’s bothering you. Trust whatever it is that you tell me will go no further than right here right now. Now c’mon. It’s time to have a heart to heart. We’re going to form an unbreakable bond over this, I’m sure of it.” 

“You’re mad,” Cassandra scoffed. However, Lavellan placed her head in her hands and looked at Cassandra intently. It was clear that she would not let this drop. “Fine,” Cassandra said, heavily swallowing the last of her meal. “I shall trust in your discretion, you have given me no reason to think otherwise.” The Inquisitor smiled at Cassandra’s words. “But if you do choose to repeat this conversation,” Cassandra continued, “even to Lady Josephine, I will gut you.” 

Lavellan shook her head. And there was the Seeker they all knew and adored. “My word, Cassandra. Such theatrics! Now. Talk.”

Cassandra rubbed her hands together nervously, exhaling heavily through her nose. “Hypothetically, let us say, I…umm…you…if…Maker preserve me,” she grumbled. “If someone were interested in courting someone, how would someone go about that?”

Keeping her face as neutral as possible, because she knew how hard for Cassandra this was, Lavellan pondered the question. “Have you never been courted, Cassandra?”

“Of course, I have,” Cassandra huffed. “When I was younger, my uncle threw all sorts of suitors my way. They were usually soft nobles who smelled of incense and repulsed me on sight.” 

“Alright,” the Inquisitor chuckled. “You probably weren’t paying much attention to how they were trying to gain your affections. How about later? Anyone else that managed to get your attention?”

“Yes,” Cassandra answered reluctantly, thinking of Regalyan. “But our 'courtship' was not ‘typical.’ I am uncertain that would be an example to follow.”

“Perhaps one day you could tell me about this person?” Lavellan could hear the tone of regret in Cassandra’s voice, but she would push no further. Cassandra would simply shut down if she did. One revelation at a time was enough.

“Perhaps,” Cassandra answered. 

“Anyway what is ‘typical’ in this day and age? Our lives our very untypical, Cassandra.”

“That is true, but I’d like to forget about that once in awhile. In this, it would be nice to be normal. As normal as it can be, anyway.” 

“Fair enough,” Lavellan said as she signaled for another drink. “Okay then, just for the sake of clarity you…or this person, would be doing the courting, yes?” Cassandra nodded. “Okay then,” Lavellan continued. “Think about how you would like to be courted. It’s customary to give tokens to show your interest, your potential affection. Think about what you might like.”

“I like swords.”

Lavellan laughed. “Less stabby and pointy, Cassandra. Flowers are the norm. But I suppose I should ask, which sex will this person…or let’s just say you.” Lavellan was tired of the word play. “You Cassandra, will you be courting a man or a woman?” Cassandra flushed. “It’s a woman, right?” Lavellan asked gently.

“Yes,” Cassandra answered faintly. 

“What does she like?”

“Flowers and songs, and pretty pieces of jewelry. Small twinkling things that she used to braid into her hair.” Cassandra slapped a hand over her mouth, fearing that she had said too much.

Lavellan smiled. “Start with flowers. That would be simple. And I think Leliana would like that.”

Cassandra looked shocked. “I said nothing about Leliana!”

“Of course you didn’t. Didn’t need to.” Lavellan reached over and patted Cassandra on the hand. “Let’s be honest, okay. I think it’s wonderful. And it’s obvious to the people closest to you that you have an affection for one another.”

“An ‘affection?’ We are just friends.”

“Sure,” the Inquisitor said with a nod. “With potential benefits.”

“Benefits?” Cassandra looked confused but then her face changed in recognition of what the Inquisitor was saying. “It is?” Cassandra was nearly dizzy. “How can that be? I didn’t even know until…I don’t know, a few weeks back!” 

“Well it’s not that obvious.” Lavellan tried to walk back on her comment. “Not to everyone, at least.”

“Who?”

Lavellan shrugged. “Josie, Sera, Bull, Varric –”

“Varric?” Cassandra groaned in dismay and put her head in her hands. “I’m doomed.”

Lavellan scooted her chair closer to the Seeker’s and rubbed her assuredly on the back. “I’ll have a talk with Varric. It’ll be okay.”

“No! Please don’t talk with anyone about this…ever!”

“Cassandra,” Lavellan soothed. “You’re being…”

“Horrified?”

Lavellan snorted in amusement. “No. Look it’s wonderful and I support your efforts at courting our dear Spymaster. But in all seriousness, the courting thing really isn’t that hard. I was once given excellent advice on the subject and I will impart it to you now. The important thing is to let her know you’re always thinking of her, even when you’re far away. And when you return, give her a little token to show her that she was the first thing on your mind when you rode back through the gates. Be kind to her, Cassandra. Be open with your heart. Give her a hug when she needs it and space when she wants it. And most of all, love her even when she doesn’t think she deserves it. I think, Cassandra, that’ll be your biggest challenge.” 

“Love?” Cassandra sounded hopeful.

“Love,” Lavellan replied with a definitive nod. 

“I am unsure if she would even want…more.”

“She might not. But all the best things are worth fighting for.” 

And with that, Cassandra could not argue.


	11. Ginger Cakes and Other Amusements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Winter's Palace and everyone is finally back at Skyhold. Hawke gets a visitor and things happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the rating change and additional tags. I'm not sure if this falls into the explicit realm, but I thought better safe than sorry. Also, Happy Halloween! This is a long chapter to make up for the infrequent posting. I've run out of excuses, and I'm sorry. As always, comments are appreciated.

To her credit, Josephine startled only slightly upon noticing the hooded figure at her window. Snuffing the candle the candle on her writing board, she hoped her eyes would quickly adjust to the dim of her office. 

“Good morning, Josie.” 

“Goodness.” Josephine let out a relieved breath. “Shall I assume that it’s always you lurking about at my window?”

“I would advise against it,” Leliana replied. “And I don’t lurk.”

In a surprisingly surly fashion, Josephine huffed in disagreement. She set the writing board on her desk and joined the Spymaster at the window, whom, she had noticed, had not yet turned her gaze from the training yard below. She knew already what, or who, had captured Leliana’s interest. “Up early as usual.” Josephine asked, looking over at her friend, who stood just to the side of the window, her body obscured within a shadowed corner. “Why do you hide?” Josephine tutted. “She knows you’re up here.”

“Habit, I suppose,” was Leliana’s distracted reply, her gaze still transfixed on a Seeker performing her daily routine. “It’s dangerous to stand full in a window, Josie.” 

“In Skyhold?” Josephine was dismissive as she walked back to her desk. “Perhaps you’ve been doing this for too long.” 

“Hmm, maybe,” Leliana agreed. “But then again, mon amie, my…caution is probably why I have been doing this for so long.” 

“Ah. Forgive me,” Josephine said with a sheepish smile. “Foolish for me not to heed your advice then.”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

“True,” Josephine conceded with a small chuckle. Although, they both knew Josephine always took Leliana’s advice quite seriously. Elegant fingers struck flint and steel to the wick of a small oil lamp on her desk. Its flame jumped to life, highlighting the brassy color of Josephine's blouse sleeves. “Shall I make us some tea?” 

“That would be lovely,” Leliana answered. “I’ll help.” 

“No, no,” Josephine patted Leliana’s arm in a teasing manner. “I wouldn’t want you to miss anything.” A hint of a smile lifted the corners of Leliana’s mouth, and she turned her attention back to the Seeker, who, as of yet, gave no indication she knew she was being observed. 

Josephine banked the embers still smoldering from the night before. It had been a late night; so late in fact, that the Inquisitor had come to properly lecture her for overworking herself. The Inquisition’s top diplomat could not prevent the flush that rose from her chest as she thought about Lavellan’s “reprimand.” A pleasant tingle traveled her limbs as she attempted to focus on the task at hand. She put the water over the flame. In a nearby cabinet she kept several tea services, each set appropriate for a situation or whomever she would be serving. The set Josephine preferred for everyday use was a simple stoneware service she had acquired upon a visit to Orzammar. The cups were surprisingly delicate, but sturdy and kept the tea wonderfully warm. “When did you get back?” She asked. Not long ago, Leliana received a dispatch that led her to one of the Inquisition’s nearby outposts. 

“Before dawn,” Leliana answered. From behind her she heard the rustling of stiff, but freshly laundered skirts, and an inattentive acknowledgement of, “oh.” She could picture Josephine’s distracted tilt of her head that accompanied such a sound. It was fine. They were both thinking of other things, or people, rather. Leliana folded her arms and let the sounds of Josephine preparing the tea relax her with its normalcy. Below, Cassandra continued to sweat and grunt her way through her sword drills. Leliana admired the fierceness that the Seeker brought to these mundane practices. Cassandra swung her sword not as a rehearsal, but as if an actual opponent dared to stand in front of her. 

After the tea had finished steeping, Josephine placed the pot on a tray with two cups and a small tin of honey. She would have put out a small carafe of milk as well, since that is how Leliana usually takes her tea, but she hadn’t yet visited the kitchen this morning. Josephine brought the tray over to the window, setting it upon the hand-worn stone of the sill. Pouring herself a cup, she noticed that Leliana no longer looked as…content. Curious, she stole a glance over her friend’s shoulder. “Ser Blackwall?” Josephine murmured. “He usually doesn’t practice this early.” 

“No,” Leliana shook her head, “he doesn’t.” 

“Maybe he is turning over a new leaf, so to speak.” At Josephine’s comment, Leliana couldn’t prevent the small guffaw from escaping her lips. She shrugged when Josephine gave her an odd look. “Do you think he is another one of Seeker Pentaghast’s admirers?” Josephine asked, quickly surmising that was the cause of Leliana’s sarcasm. 

“Most certainly.” 

“He is? Hmm.” Josephine made a face. Not that she disliked Blackwall. In fact, she found the handsome Warden to be polite, if not gruffly charming. Leliana, on the other hand, always seemed rather guarded about him. Regardless, she was sure that Cassandra did not return his interest and voiced that opinion. 

Leliana gave her a look that indicated the mollification was unnecessary. “We are talking about Cassandra, yes? It’s an excellent bet that she hasn’t even noticed his interest. I quite believe he would have to hit her over the head with a bouquet of roses, place a tome of love poems in her hands AND still need to declare his intent. Wouldn’t you agree?”

That made Josephine giggle wildly. With a smile, Leliana left the window, cup of tea in hand to sit on the edge of Josephine’s desk. She couldn’t afford to tarry too much longer but she wasn’t here to simply spy on Cassandra. However, working up the nerve to tell her friend that seemed rather elusive. “Josie you do make a wonderful cup of tea.”

“You’ve had the training as well as I,” Josephine said, sipping at her tea and accepting the compliment with gracious tilt of her head. 

“Yes, but the focus of my training was to cover the flavor of poisons.” 

Josephine raised an eyebrow at this. Leliana rarely divulged anything about her training under Marjolaine. “You do make your teas rather strong…and sweet.” 

Leliana raised her cup as if to say, “see.” She brought her hand to her stomach as the fact that she had not eaten since yesterday morning finally made itself known via a rambunctious stomach growl.

Shaking her head at her friend’s self-neglect, Josephine walked to her door. “I’ll send someone to the kitchen, and undoubtedly you will try and tell me you have not the time. Don’t. I’ll request bread and that cheese you love so much.” 

“It's so good, Josie. I’m surprised you don’t like it.”

“Ugh. I can’t get past the aroma. It’s very pungent.”

The two of them chatted amicably and about non-consequential things until the food arrived. Then Josephine took the seat behind her desk, getting her parchments for the day in order as she nibbled on some fruit. Leliana returned to her spot near the window, watching Cassandra finish her practice. 

Josephine glanced up at the Spymaster. “Have you gotten a chance to talk with her since she returned?”

“No,” Leliana answered regretfully. “I was gone before she and the Inquisitor rode through the gates.” She looked back at Josephine with a mischievous grin. “But you and the Inquisitor had a chance to…reconnect?” 

Josephine nodded and smiled shyly. “She wasn’t gone for very long this time, as you know.”

“A few days can be an eternity when you are newly in love, yes?” She loved teasing Josie, especially when it made her blush so. “So it is going well?”

“Very well,” Josephine answered primly. Determined not to give Leliana more ammunition, she quickly changed the subject. “You could go talk to her now, you know?” 

“The Inquisitor?” 

Josephine rolled her eyes at Leliana’s intentional obtuseness. “After Halamshiral, you seemed very disappointed that Cassandra did not come back to Skyhold with us.”

Leliana shrugged, her gaze drawn once again to the training yard. Cassandra had finally left. Sighing quietly, Leliana walked over to Josephine’s bookcase. Historical writings by Thedas’ most renowned explores or scholars, mostly. Of course, now, they held no real interest to her, but she toyed with the spine of one, a volume of Brother Genitivi’s, Travels of a Chantry Scholar. Flipping it out of its spot, she blew the dust off its cover and thumbed lazily through its pages. 

“What are you doing?” Josephine asked without looking up from her parchment. 

“I haven’t read this one.”

“Yes you have.” A long moment passed and Leliana remained silent. With a dramatic sigh, Josephine put the parchment aside. “Leliana, you have been here much longer than usual. Forgive me for saying, but you are so stubborn that it is a rare occurrence that I can convince you to take a few moments for a cup of tea let alone a full breakfast. Now you are perusing my modest collection of reading material. What is next, a nap by the fire?” She winked when Leliana rolled her eyes in response. “I can only assume that you need to speak of something but are having difficulty figuring out where to start.” Deliberately, Josephine also placed her writing quill off to the side. “Whatever it is, I’m listening.”

Thrown slightly askew by Josephine’s sudden directness, Leliana thought briefly about denying any such thing. However, the rational part of her brain won out. “Well…," she began after some uncharacteristic hand-wringing, "you see there were cakes.” 

Josephine raised her eyebrows in question. Surely there was more.

“Left outside my door -”

“Ah. Mistress Bolgier had oatcakes in the hall yesterday,” Josephine interrupted. 

“No. Not oatcakes. Ginger cakes.”

“Your favorites!”

“Yes, my favorites. They were left outside my door, this morning. It’s not a secret–”

“Everything is a secret with you.”

“Fine.” Leliana huffed in jest. “It’s a secret, apparently, that I love sweets.”

“Yes, and that your favorite sweets are ginger cakes; with icing, to be exact,” Josephine exclaimed, her brow high in anticipation of the rest of the story

“Yes. You and Cassandra are the only ones that know that, and judging by your reaction I can safely assume you did not leave me those cakes, no?”

Josephine laughed. “Especially since you still owe me a bottle of wine! And do you know how hard it is to procure ginger? You are a dear friend, but it wasn’t me.” 

“I didn’t think so,” Leliana replied with a pinched mouth. “They were, after all, placed in a pretty tin, wrapped with a delicate ribbon.” 

“A delicate ribbon? What color?”

“Red,” Leliana sighed. She already knew where this was going.

“Oh my goodness!” Josephine brought her hand up to her mouth in surprise. “Is she…this is….is she courting you?” She asked in quite a loud whisper.

That was the question, wasn’t it? The very idea left Leliana in a jumble of pieces. On one hand, she knew that the thought was too risky to contemplate, ridiculous to even consider and too much to hope for. 

“Of course she is!” Josephine stood. “Cassandra does not just _leave_ cakes.”

“She doesn’t?”

“Oh for the love of…,” Josephine all but growled. “Let us not joke of Cassandra’s cluelessness whilst you partake in bit of your own.”

“All right.” Leliana acquiesced. “All right,” she threw up her hands. “I suppose the idea of Cassandra…courting me is…” Leliana shook her head. “Utterly ridiculous. This is Cassandra for Andraste’s sake!”

Josephine grabbed at Leliana’s hand. “No it’s not ridiculous. I’ve seen how she looks at you, she tries to hide it, but Cassandra has never been good at hiding her emotions; granted it’s mostly disgust and anger,” she joked to lighten her friend’s mood. “All these years, Leliana. Before the Inquisition, every time you’ve talked of her, there was always something…”

“Frustration?”

“Of a sort, as we now know.” A sly tease by Josephine, which reddened Leliana’s cheeks. A rare occurrence. Josephine brought a hand to her chest. “So very brave, our Seeker.”

“Indeed. And I’m not.” 

Josephine gave her an apologetic look. “I didn’t mean…”

Leliana shook her head. “I knew what you meant, Josie. It’s okay. I’m only speaking the truth, am I not? I’m not brave like she it. I can’t stop this…” she placed a hand on her stomach, “this fear that sits here. Blood and damnation! I feel as if I’m holding on by my fingertips.”

“Try, Leliana. Let her be brave enough for both of you, Leliana.” 

“You are hopeless, chérie.” Josephine didn’t understand and in some regards, Leliana was glad for it. She bit her lower lip, afraid to divulge the next piece of information.

“There’s more. I can tell.” Josephine nearly stomped her foot, physically urging Leliana divulge whatever she was holding back. “Tell me the rest, it goes no further than here, I promise.”

Of course, Leliana knew she could trust Josephine; wasn’t that why she was lurking about in her office so early this morning? Her head had been in so much turmoil since Halamshiral. She could barely think of anything else, and that was an issue. If her head wasn’t on the business of the Inquisition, it could have serious repercussions. The feelings conjured up by watching Cassandra this morning only exacerbated the situation. “She was going to kiss me.” Leliana spoke quickly, trying to keep ahead of the anxiety the sentence produced. 

“At Halamshiral?” Josephine asked with an excited clap of her hands. Leliana nodded. “And?”

“Cullen interrupted.”

“Brasca!”

“It was probably for the best,” Leliana affirmed with an annoyed grimace. “I almost didn’t hear him in time. Big, jackbooted, Cullen! How I’ve let my guard down.” Leliana rubbed her face roughly. “And at the Winter’s Palace, of all the places.” 

“Yes, yes,” Josephine didn’t have time for the Spymaster’s self-castigation. “But you were going to let her…kiss you?”

Leliana took a deep breath. “I find that I have a hard time refusing Cassandra.” And she couldn’t help but punctuate that statement with a smile. She hadn’t felt this way in such a long time and it was, in way, freeing to give in to it even though there was the ever-present disquiet in the back of her mind. 

"She does have way about her,” Josephine teasingly agreed. 

“This is serious, Josie. I find it…distracting.”

“As it should be. Being courted by a beautiful warrior…oh my,” Josephine gushed as she sank into her chair.

Leliana threw her hands up. “What am I going to do? I can’t run around, head in the clouds like a love-sick maiden! Like, like, you!” She pointed accusingly toward the Ambassador. 

“Why not? The only one that expects you to be our intimidating Spymaster all the time is _you_. It is okay to relax, or be love-sick maiden, as you say.”

“People die if I relax, no? What I do, is not trivial.”

Josephine put her hands up in a mollifying gesture. “Isn’t that true for all of us?”

“Yes! Of course,” Leliana waved her hand in apology. “Forgive me.”

“Leliana, there is nothing to forgive. I can say with all confidence that you would never knowingly or willingly jeopardize the Inquisition and neither would Cassandra, and neither would I or the Inquisitor. But you are only human, and as a human,” she smiled when Leliana folded her arms, “you have these things called emotions. Goodness. Nobody would hold it against you if you simply allowed yourself to enjoy this.” Josephine leaned forward. “Perhaps the one thing we should take away from this horrible breach in the sky is that we should be living, Leliana. Seeker Cassandra is an amazing woman. I find it remarkable, quite frankly, that she has taken such a step. Surely it isn’t easy for her. Unsurprisingly, she has clearly decided that you are worth it. Doesn’t that make you feel…incredible?” 

But before Leliana could answer, three rapid knocks sounded at Josie’s door. “Blast,” the Ambassador muttered under her breath. “Come,” she called out. A messenger stepped in, a small scroll presented with a bow and then the he was gone. With a contrite look toward Leliana, Josephine unrolled the scroll and read it quickly.

“What is it?” Leliana asked, noting the look of surprise on her friend’s face.

“Messere Hawke, is she still here?”

“As of this morning, yes.”

"Varric said she was leaving for Weisshaupt soon. Fortuitous that she hasn’t."

“Why?”

Josephine smiled. “She has a visitor.” She held out the scroll for Leliana. 

Leliana took the scroll and smiled upon reading it. “Well, this should delight our Champion.” She handed the scroll back to Josephine. “We’ll talk later.” She held up her hand to stave off Josephine’s protest. “I shall think about what you’ve said. I promise. But I’ve wasted enough time on this. I’ve ravens to greet.”

Josephine sighed as the Spymaster left her office. She had never met anyone harder to convince. And that was saying much, considering Josephine’s persuasive talents.

Along the Western ramparts, Hawke stepped lazily back to her quarters. No doubt a consequence of having a belly full Mistress Bolgier’s pottage. She had overindulged fearing that it would be several days before another good meal, because Hawke had decided that she would depart for Weisshaupt today. Although she knew it was necessary, she loathed the idea of leaving. Varric had tried his best to dissuade her, telling her that news of Warden-Commander Clarel had been delivered, and perhaps she need not leave. After all, he said, he was sure the Inquisitor could always use another steady pair of hands at her side. It was tempting. She quite liked the elf and her merry band of do-gooders. Hawke would certainly fit in well. But Hawke knew she owed it to Stroud to make sure the order that he served so honorably receive a first-hand account of what had tragically transpired. Sighing as she looked out upon the Frostback’s jagged peaks, knowing she could delay no longer. 

“Hawke!” Varric’s voice called out from behind her.

“Miss me already?” She teased over her shoulder.

“Well, I have someone here that I happen to know you’ve missed a great deal.”

Curious, Hawke turned to face her friend and instantly felt her knees weaken. “Isabela?” 

Sauntering up to her lover, the wayward Pirate Queen’s took the liberties she figured she’d earned. Her gaze wrapped possessively around Hawke. Friends of Isabela’s knew that the only other thing that alight such a spark in her eyes was her ship. “Hawke,” she greeted. “You’re looking…well-fit.”

Where Isabela looked as if she were about to engage in duel, Hawke’s basically turned into a soft, sentimental mess. The so-called Champion of Kirkwall would have taken on a dozen Arishoks for the woman in front of her, who, by the way looked as beautiful as ever –skin a burnished bronze, her cheeks rosy from the mountain chill and that lopsided smirk as promising as ever. And, of course, Isabela was stunningly underdressed. Hawke let out slow and ridiculously uneven breath.

“My eyes are up here, sailor,” Isabela teased.

Hawke quirked and eyebrow. “It’s hard to miss those,” she stated, pointing at Isabela’s chest. 

“But you have, haven’t you?”

“Desperately,” Hawke replied honestly. “Would you like a coat?”

“I was hoping for the opposite, actually.” 

Varric cleared his throat. “Well that didn’t take long. I leave you to your…hellos. And don’t get it in your mind's to run off. I wouldn’t mind catching up, with the ‘Admiral.’ I’ll see you both later.”

“Much later,” Isabela answered. “And you’re buying.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way. I’ll warn the others,” Varric chuckled under his breath and with a wave he left his two friends alone. 

“What took you so long?” Hawke asked. 

“I thought I made excellent time considering I had to get through a rather nasty storm; not to mention some extremely rude Templars AND some seriously cranky mages. One would think the world was ending.”

Grinning, Hawke reached out to smooth a stray strand of hair behind Isabela's ear. “One would think. I suppose, I should just be happy you made it all.” 

“I suppose.”

“I am, you know. This is me being bloody-well happy.”

Isabela laughed. “Are those puppy dogs eyes of yours supposed to be proof? Sorry, sweet thing. I’m going to need more convincing. You’ve a room? I’d love to see it.”

Moments later Hawke had barely pulled Isabela through the doorway before she had her pressed up against it. It had always been like this, even when they had the luxury spending day after day with each other in Kirkwall. Isabela rested her head against the wooden door, exulting in the feel of Hawke’s possessive lips assailing her neck. “Shhh,” Isabela soothed as she felt Hawke’s trembling fingers grasp ineffectually at the ties of her long coat. “Let me help.” 

Nodding, Hawke stepped back a fraction, giving Isabela some space to liberate herself from the suddenly annoying garments. “I’ve missed you so much,” Hawke whispered, pressing her forehead to Isabela’s. Months had passed since their last stolen moment together, and to Hawke it felt as if it had been decades. “You’re really here? This isn’t a cruel trick? Maker if I’m still in the fade, I will tear this place to pieces.”

They were forced to part, as Isabela shimmied out of her corselet and threw it halfway across the room. “Here,” she said in a needy exhale, pulling Hawke’s hands to her. “Do these feel real?” The sure and calloused fingertips of her lover made her gasp for air. “Andraste’s tits,” she hissed, helplessly arching toward Hawke’s skilled hands. Lips ghosted over a taut nipple, teasing her and she whimpered in desire and frustration. With both hands, she pressed Hawke’s head to her breasts, practically forcing herself in Hawke’s mouth. Isabela was in no mood for slow and tender. Low guttural sounds echoed against the stone walls and Isabela was pushing and pulling at Hawke’s shoulders, fisting the loose rough-worn fabric of the other woman’s tunic. She could feel Hawke’s angular hips begin to roll against hers, and she instinctively raised a leg, smiling as she felt Hawke grab it and secure it high against her ribcage. Her lover was too thin, and Isabela knew she would have to talk with Hawke about that and the Fade remark later. At the moment, however, the feel of her sex pulsing with anticipation was taking precedent over everything else.

Coherent thought was further impaired as Hawke took Isabela’s wrists and held her arms high above her head. As a rule, Isabela had never been a passive lover, but she’d gladly let the Champion of Kirkwall take her against this door – all night if that’s what her lover wanted. In fact, she was on the very edge of begging for it.

But Hawke didn’t hold her captive for long. Isabela nearly cried when she felt long, deft fingers play her perfectly, eternally knowing how to touch her. Isabela’s mind flashed back to an inebriated Hawke, ten years younger and before she was ‘The Champion,’ making her dissolve into a puddle of ecstasy and feelings in a fusty guestroom of the Hang Man tavern. 

“Maker,” Hawke moaned. “You’re so wet.” 

“Aren’t we proud of ourselves,” Isabela rejoined feebly. “Don’t tease me. It’s been too long.” 

“I’m not going to tease you, Isabela. I’m going to fuck you. I’m going to fold you over and have my way with you. ” 

“You nasty girl,” Isabela growled. Hawke’s words always gave her tingles but when she talked dirty, well, that caused a flood, and Isabela would’ve been embarrassed if she weren’t so desperate to feel her lover inside of her. “Sodding do it,” she urged, but she needn’t ask, as two exquisite fingers pulled her small-clothes aside and slipped inside of her – rough and quick. Isabela yelped in surprised pleasure, grasping at Hawke’s face and stamping her authority on the situation with a clever, hot tongue. 

Hawke didn’t take her time. She flexed her knees and dug in deep. A bottomless satisfaction overcame her when she felt Isabela body go limp and deceptively helpless in her arms – her pirate queen dazed with pleasure. But Hawk required more. Isabela made a keening, needy noise as Hawke pulled out. “These,” Hawke growled, while tugging at Isabela’s small clothes, “need to come off.” 

Then Isabela felt Hawke brace herself and she could not prevent the very non-Isabela-like squeal from leaving her lips. Hawke winked as she settled her lover into her arms. Isabela secretly delighted in Hawke’s sturdy confidence. “How’s such a scrawny thing such as yourself so damned strong?” 

“You think, I’m strong? You know Bethany could always out lift- ”

“Hawke,” Isabela placed a finger against Hawke’s mouth to shush her. “I don’t want to talk about your sister.”

Hawke nodded sheepishly and Isabela removed her finger, but not before the Champion gave it a departing kiss. “Oh right. I should have said, ‘you just bring out the best in me,’ which is mostly true.” 

“Smooth talker.”

"Shit, I've missed you." Hawke’s eyes were sincere and the Isabela almost had to look away, but they had come too far for that. Insecurities had almost sunk them, but they worked through them so she confidently held her lover’s gaze, she owed Hawke that. She owed it to herself. 

“My beautiful, girl,” Isabela whispered. 

A smile, a real smile (not the cheeky facades that Hawke had perfected) graced Hawke’s face. “You keep talking like that and you might get lucky,” Hawked teased. 

“Countin’ on it.”

Chuckling, Hawke carried her over the bed and laid her tenderly upon it. She brought a hand up to Isabela’s face. There were a few more wrinkles, but nothing could diminish Isabela’s beauty in Hawke’s eyes. She knew that their time apart hadn’t been easy – for either of them – and it was a small miracle that they were standing here together as it was. And a wave of desperation overcame her. She wanted Isabela to know how much she had missed her. How affected she had been by their time apart. “Where is it?”

“What?” Isabela asked in confusion, propping herself on elbows as Hawke pushed away from her.

“I want to be inside of you, Isabela,” Hawke stated bluntly. 

Isabela reached for her. “Then come here.”

Hawke shook her head. “No. I want to feel you around me. I want you to feel me, Isabela. I want to fill you…be inside you. ”

Isabela’s mouth fell open. “Oh. You sure, I don’t need you to-”

“I know you don’t. But I want it,” Hawke demanded. Then she softened. “Please. It’s hardly a chore, Isabela and I want to make you happy.” 

A tender smile graced Isabela’s face. “You make me happy, you silly fruit. Not appendages.” 

Hawke shook her head again and gave Isabela a rueful smile. “That didn’t come out right, I know that. Of course I do. Just…let’s dissect this later, okay? Just…I can smell you Isabela. You, your scented oils, just… you and I feel as if I’m about to burst so get your ass off that bed and fetch our special accoutrement!”

“So bossy,” Isabela teased as pushed herself off the bed and padded over to the corner of Hawke’s small room. Her bags were there.

Hawke frowned. “How did those get here?”

“The Inquisition’s Ambassador is very efficient, and quite the looker.”

“Really, Isabela?” Hawke asked with a roll of her eyes. “Now?”

“Oh pish,” Isabela replied with a wink. “I think you just _felt_ how much you don’t have to worry…” she turned to her bags. “It’s in…oh yes this one!” She reached into her smaller bag, digging to the bottom until she felt the box. She looked over her shoulder. It wasn’t as if Hawke hated using this, quite the opposite. But Isabela knew that sometimes her lover could be…unsure about it, particularly after being apart for so long. “I adore your hands…and your mouth. I don’t need –”

“Isabela,” Hawke held out her hand, snapping her fingers. “Give me my cock.” 

With a sultry smile, Isabela opened the box and pulled out the phallus, handing it over to her lover. This had been a thing between them once. It all started with Merrill. Sweet, lovely Merrill. The only friend who could gift them a phallus as nonchalantly as she would make them a pot of soup. 

>   
>  __
> 
> “Well this is fantastically unexpected,” Hawke croaked as she looked over Isabela’s shoulder. “Is that what I think it is?”
> 
> “Kitten?” Isabela asked as she took the sex toy from the box, dutifully ignoring the snicker that came from behind her. “Where did you get this and why? Not that I’m complaining.” 
> 
> The diminutive elf wrung her hands. “Do you like it? I hope you do. I couldn’t shop from experience because I’ve never used one…it’s very realistic. I was told that wasn’t very important, you know… for it to look real, but I thought the size of that one would be good. They had a surprising amount to choose from. I didn’t realize that they were so popular. But I can see where having one would be a good idea. Do you like it?”
> 
> “We love it,” Hawke lied, but she would never deliberately hurt Merrill’s feelings. Hawke would honestly rather flog herself. With a forced smile, she took the dildo out of Isabela’s hands, slightly disturbed by the feelings provoked at such a sight. 
> 
> “Oh good.” Merrill was relieved. “The other day, remember Isabela, we were talking…”
> 
> Isabela rubbed her forehead with a worried hand. “Oh, Kitten,” she muttered. 
> 
> “And you said, you wish that sometimes Hawke could just –”
> 
> “I remember.”
> 
> “Of course you do. You remember everything. Like how to count cards. That’s so amazing. I’ve never told Aveline. You’re right; I don’t think she’d approve. Not that it matters, really. But she loves you, you know. It’s enchanted, by the way. I learned that once.” Merrill looked perplexed. “Haven’t forgotten that yet.”
> 
> Hawke shook her head, unsure if Merrill’s stream of consciousness was over. “Enchanted?”
> 
> “Hmm.” Merrill nodded.
> 
> “What does that mean, Kitten? That it can fly?” Isabela asked with a chuckle. 
> 
> “Oh! That would be fun.” 
> 
> “Merrill.” Hawke’s patience did have limits.
> 
> “Of course, I’m rambling. Like always. Yes. Enchanted. Like when you wear it…it will feel as if it’s your own. Like when you pinch an ear. You feel that, but in this case it will be down there…in your nether regions.” 
> 
> Hawke’s eyebrow raised higher than Merrill had ever seen. “That’s…why would you learn how to enchant sex toys?”
> 
> “I assumed that Isabela would ask me one day. She’s very sex-positive. I wanted to be ready. I’d do anything for her." She looked over at Isabella. "You're so...pretty.”
> 
> With a click of her tongue, Isabela engulfed Merrill in a hug, and the smallish elf unabashedly rested her checks on the Pirate’s barely-covered breasts. “Don’t you ever change, Kitten.”
> 
> “Why would I do that? Although, I would admit that sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be a nug.”

>

“Hawke, did I lose you?” Isabela’s worried voice jarred Hawke from her own thoughts. 

Hawke shook the memory from her head. “As if,” then she tilted her head toward the bed. “Get naked.”

“Again with the bossing, you’re so lucky it gets me hot.” Isabela quickly began to shed the rest of her clothing. 

Hawke raised a haughty brow at the site of Isabela’s eagerness. She finished undressing, glowing under the appreciative glance of her lover. With deft hands, she took the small end of the phallus, and carefully, if not self-consciously moved it to her entrance. She was excited enough, that it slipped in quite easily. Her eyes widened as a jolt of sensation tremored through her body. “Maker! It’s still enchanted?”

Isabela moved back on the bed, resting on her elbows, her breasts full and soft, her legs opening and closing in lazy arcs. “Of course,” she answered. “That’s only for you and me.” She held her hand out. “Come here.”

Hawke crawled onto the bed, positioning herself above Isabela. With a mischievous twitch of her mouth Isabela reached between them to stroke the length of her lover. “Shit,” Hawke moaned, as her hips lunged forward.

“Someone’s a little out of practice,” Isabela teased. 

“A lot out of practice,” Hawke fell to her elbows, resting her forehead on Isabela’s, and concentrating mightily on not coming immediately. 

Isabela continued to keep her hand busy as she peppered Hawke’s face with tender kisses. “Do you want my mouth on you?” 

“Yes,” Hawke groaned but then quickly shook her head. “Wait. No. I don’t think I can last, and, and, I want to be inside you the first time I come.” 

“Mm, yes.” Isabela spread her legs wide. “Come on, sweet thing. Fill me up, then.”

Hawke became a jumble of ill-controlled nerve endings. Hurriedly, she positioned herself. Reacting to a rather inelegant thrust, Isabela placed a soothing hand on her lover’s chest. Easy,” she cooed, as she positioned Hawke at her opening. She could feel Hawke begin to shake, the other woman’s self-control waning precipitously. “Now, nice and slow,” she said, as she gripped Hawke’s ass, urging the other woman to enter her. Hawke groaned, long and hard, and Isabela hissed as the other woman stretched and filled her. “So good,” she affirmed. 

“Fuck, Isabela,” Hawke said through gritted teeth as she began to piston her pelvis, slow and measured. She rested her body full on Isabela, trying to get closer, to feel more.

Isabela hands moved to Hawke’s shoulders, over scars she knew weren’t there before. She held on to her lover, because she felt that if she let go, she’d never survive it. She moved her hips, helping to dictate a rhythm Hawke could follow. “That’s it. Faster, Hawke. I’m ready now. Give it to me.”

Hawke turned her head, her lips sucking at the crook of Isabela’s neck and shoulder. Her skin tasted of earth, sweat and the spiced incense Isabela burned in her quarters. It was divine and Hawke wanted it to be her own. Her mouth widened and she knew that she was marking Isabela, but she didn’t care. And neither did Isabela by the way she made sure to expose more of her neck. Hawke increased her pace, the feeling of being inside Isabela was nearly devastating. In fact, everything about her pirate was devastating. And then it all hit Hawke at once, her hips stalled then slowed. She wanted to be perfect. No. She _needed_ to be perfect. Maybe this time they could be together? Would Isabela stay? Maker, Hawke wanted it to be so. And unless she was standing on the deck with her, Hawke never wanted to see Isabela sail away on that ship of hers again. Whatever it was the Isabela needed, Hawke wanted to be it. She wanted to be enough. 

Isabela, of course, could feel Hawke holding back and that usually meant Hawke had gone deep into her own head. “Hawke? Look at me, sweet thing,” she urged. But Hawke dug her face further into the crook of Isabela’s neck. “Look at me,” she urged again, but again Hawke refused, pumping in and out, keeping steady time, until finally, Isabela gripped at Hawke’s hair forcing her to look at her. “Hawke,” she whispered. “What’s this?” Hawke shook her head, and Isabela stilled her hips. “I’m not gonna have it. Tell me,” she pushed the hair from Hawke’s eyes. “Tell me,” she urged again.

“I’m a selfish twat.”

Isabela laughed. “Joined the rest of humanity, have we?” 

“I want you to stay. Like forever.” Isabela gave Hawke a smile only reserved for her. I was soft and vulnerable, and Hawke imagined it was the sort of smile Isabela would have given away freely as a child. “I know that, you silly goose. I want that too. I’m so sorry I never made that clear. I never wanted to leave you, Hawke. Ever.” She smoothed out the crease on Hawke’s forehead. “There’s only you, sweet thing. There’s only ever been you. All right? I only feel you. I love you. Only. You. Oh shhh... Don’t you start crying, or I’ll start crying too. And I’m a horribly ugly crier.”

Laughing, Hawke swiped the tears away with the back of her hand. “Would you mind terribly if I just said, ‘ditto?’”

Isabella winked then squeezed her inner muscles so that she got the desired reaction from Hawke. “I dunno, do that swirl-thing again, and I’ll let you know.” 

“This?” she asked and smiled when Isabela’s mouth made the loveliest o-shape. “And you’re a beautiful crier. The most beautiful crybaby in all of Thedas. And fantastically easy. ”

“Aren’t you lucky, then?” Then with the expertise of an “easy” woman she flipped Hawke onto her back. “Now let me show you how easily I’m going to make you come.” 

All Hawke could do was close her eyes and hold on to generous hips as Isabela mounted her and began fucking her in earnest. She felt Isabela grab at her hands and place them upon her breast. “Play with these,” she demanded. 

And Hawked did. She pinched and pulled and sucked and reveled in the feel of Isabela all around her. Soon, Isabela swatted her hands away, falling onto Hawke and branding her with lips that reminded Hawke of a bootleg bottle of brandy they had found years ago. “I’m going to come, Hawke,” the frantic whisper snaked into Hawke’s ear. “I can’t wait any longer. Come with me, baby. I need to feel you come inside of me.”

Gripping the back of Isabela’s head, Hawke’s hand tangled into the dark cascade of curls that had escaped their tie, she once again flipped them over, taking control. Hawke lost any semblance of a rhythm, becoming mindless with want. Isabela’s words turned into desperate grunts, increasing in pitch and intensity. Moments passed until Hawke could no longer hold out, she felt a searing heat emanate outwards and everything became pleasure and white light. Hawke wasn’t a screamer, but Isabela was and the sound pierced Hawke again and again as it reverberated off the fortress’ wall. She jerked once then twice, and maybe three times as the last of her orgasm was milked from her. Collapsing onto Isabela all she felt was her heart rapidly beating, like she were fighting brigands. Eventually, she came back to herself and the feel of Isabela’s soothing hands across her back. 

“Ah, she’s back,” Isabela chuckled quietly.

“How did you know?”

“I felt you smile.”

Pushing herself to her elbows, Hawke tenderly swiped the damp strands of hair from Isabela’s face. “That was okay, yeah?” She asked her voice, crackly and hoarse. A limp-handed smack to her shoulder answered her. Hawked chuckled. “I meant, bloody fantastic, of course.” She moved her hips, which caused Isabela to take a sharp intake of breath. “Sorry love,” Hawke apologized quickly.

Isabela lifted her head and she looked at Hawke with that rare soft-eyed look. “It’s all right. Let me…” Isabela sat up and gingerly helped Hawke pull out of her, then she collapsed again. 

“Don’t go getting any ideas about sleeping. I’m not through with you yet.”

Hawke rolled onto her back and closed her eyes. “Sweetest words, I’ve ever heard.” 

Meanwhile in the War Room, Cassandra knew she was in trouble the moment Leliana asked her the question: “And what say you, Cassandra?” 

To say that she were hoping for more idealistic reunion was an understatement. Gritting her teeth like she were applying a field dressing, the Seeker answered honestly but quickly, “She stays.” Morrigan quirked her mouth a little, which could have been interpreted as a sign of triumph. Cassandra really wished she hadn’t noticed, because if she had, surely Leliana would have also. Sighing inwardly, Cassandra stole a quick glance at the Spymaster whose face remained blank – too blank. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the Inquisitor shuffle her feet, no doubt wondering if she should intercede. “Let’s continue,” Cassandra said forcefully. It was the first time she had seen Leliana since Halamshiral, and she had hoped for a better reception. 

Afterwards, when Morrigan was the only one who had left the War Room, the Inquisitor tried to smooth it over with her Spymaster. “Leliana, about Morrigan, I understand your concerns –”

“It has been settled, yes?” Leliana said with a too-quick and too-slight of a smile. 

“Well, I’m still not sure about it at all,” Cullen said. “I think Leliana is right.”

“She probably is, but the fact remains that we must utilize everything and everyone,” Cassandra argued, looking directly at Leliana, “if we want to seal that breach. That is our first priority. Morrigan has already provided us with helpful information regarding Grand Enchanter Fiona and this…Tevinter Magister. Excluding her from the War Room seems…”

“Petty?” Leliana asked.

“Cautious,” Cassandra corrected with a sigh. “But not beneficial.” 

"How do we know? We know nothing about her! Empress Celene foists her upon us and we are to let her waltz right in -" Cullen began.

“Actually,” Josephine interjected, “the Empress relied quite heavily on Morrigan, and Celene is now a staunch supporter of the Inquisition, as she should be. There would be no reason to –"

“You can’t know that, Josephine!”

“Enough!” Lavellan cute him off in a rare show of annoyance. “By the lost Dales, she’s here and she says she wants to help, and quite frankly we need all the blasted help we can get. I have no doubts that your concerns are valid, Leliana, but she stays.”

“It’s quite all right, Inquisitor. Undoubtedly my past experiences with Morrigan have perhaps clouded my judgment.”

“She did help you and the Warden end the Fifth Blight,” Cassandra added, rather unhelpfully. 

“Indeed,” Leliana answered dryly. “Be that as it may, if Morrigan becomes an issue I’m…we’re, well-equipped to deal with it.” 

The Inquisitor raised a wary brow but let it lie. “So Redcliff,” she clapped her hands. “We need to go to Redcliff. Cassandra?”

Cassandra hated to say it, considering that they had just returned to Skyhold, but she thought they should leave for Redcliff as soon as possible. So they made plans for departure after a few days rest and just long enough for Josephine to prepare and send a dispatch to King Alistair and Queen Anora. Then the Inquisitor’s advisors left the room. Leliana departed as quickly as one of her ravens, and without a glance toward Cassandra. Cullen followed, his heavy steps surely headed toward the barracks, and finally Josephine who muttered something to the Inquisitor about working on that letter. That left Lavellan and Cassandra. “Well that was a rousing good time.” There was no hiding the weariness is the Inquisitor's voice.

Rubbing her face roughly, Cassandra exhaled loudly. “There was nothing good about it. Honestly, I would rather fight darkspawn.”

“Naked?”

“You are absurd and you make no sense. Who would dare fight darkspawn naked?"

Lavellan shook her head. "Oh Cassandra you'd be surprised."

Cassandra scoffed. "Well naked or clothed, my point stands. At least they are infinitely much less harder to understand.”

Lavellan laughed. “Yes. Darkspawn are not complicated. Is it darkspawn? Yes. Is it trying to kill you? Yes. Should you try and kill it first. Yes? Easy. All other things, not darkspawn? Complicated. You should probably go and fix the complicated mess you stepped into. You have some ‘splainin’ to do.”

“Are you referring to Leliana?”

“Duh. Yes. I’m referring to our Spymaster who looked quite displeased with you.”

“There is nothing to explain. I was quite clear with my reasoning. I did nothing wrong.”

Lavellan threw up her hands. “When did that ever matter? Don’t you listen to anything I say? Go you stubborn ghast brute!”

“Fine,” Cassandra huffed as she walked toward the door, unsure as to why she had to do the explaining, but annoyed that she felt compelled to do so. She stopped and pointed a finger at the Inquisitor. “And don’t call me a ghast.” Then she was gone.

“Better than an ‘ass!’” Lavellan shouted after her.

Cassandra found Leliana in her rookery, of course. She had her people with her, they were milling about doing whatever it was that spies do. Two were standing right next to Leliana. Cassandra recognized one, the other she did not. The Spymaster was nose first in some scrolls and paid scant attention to the Seeker as she approached the table. The others gave her respectful nods, which Cassandra returned. Leliana continued dissect whatever it was that she was reading, dolling out instructions accordingly. Taking off her gloves, Cassandra crossed her arms and patiently waited for Leliana to acknowledge her. They’ve had these spats before, the difference between then and now is that Cassandra would not be standing here. She would have simply gone about her business, leaving it up to Leliana to get over it, or not. It would have been the same if the tables had been turned. In their careers, the Hands of the Divine would not have spared another thought to saying their minds or doing what they felt was right. So the fact that Cassandra was here, was a testament to them both just how far things had changed.

Suddenly, Leliana handed her scroll to the agent closest to her. “That is all.” Without a word, the rookery had emptied, leaving only Leliana and Cassandra. Finally, the Spymaster acknowledged the Seeker. “You make it hard to concentrate.”

“Yet, you seemed to do so with little trouble.” 

Leliana could not help but smile at Cassandra’s dry wit. But contrary to the Seeker’s observation, it had been quite difficult. “I have to finish a few more things. Come to my quarters half past the hour?”

Cassandra nodded and left. At precisely half past the hour, she gave Leliana’s door two quick raps. Before the third knock, the door swung open and Leliana greeted her, pushing the faded blue cowl from her head. She motioned for Cassandra to enter. “Would you like some lemon water?” She offered.

“No thank you,” Cassandra replied as her eyes swept Leliana’s room. It was austere, much like her own, except for the bedside stand that glittered with several small pieces of jewelry that Leliana usually kept hidden underneath all her armor. A candle warmed some oils, and Cassandra thought it smelled like spring. 

“Thank you for coming,” Leliana said.

“Of course,” Cassandra answered, wondering why they were being so formal. She tapped her fingers against Leliana’s small reading table and waited.

Leliana seemed to be fussing with nothing at all, pouring herself a cup of water, and then placing it down without taking a sip. Cassandra began to wonder if she should leave. She was about to ask, but then Leliana cleared her throat, “I’m sorry.” 

The apology was mumbled and sort of whispered, but Cassandra heard it correctly. Slightly in shock, she reared her head back. “Pardon?”

Sighing, Leliana folded her arms behind her back. “My reaction today, to…Morrigan…”

“No,” Cassandra shook her head. 

“I was –”

“No Leliana. Let us not start apologizing over things we do for the Inquisition. I’ve always respected that you’ve never hesitated to share your unfiltered opinions with me.”

“You have not always liked my opinions.”

“True. Often, in fact. The same could be said for you. Do we need sycophants, Sister Nightingale? Or a…friend who will help us maintain bearing?” 

Taking a deep breath, Leliana nodded once. For some reason, she liked it when Cassandra called her that. Maybe it was because of Cassandra’s accent, or maybe it was because that was the only way Cassandra addressed her for the first few months of their acquaintance. Leliana did not know. “Well at least let me apologize for acting like…a…”

“A petulant adolescent?”

“I was going to say, ‘bitch’ but your apt description sounds more refined. Dare I say, ‘aristocratic’? Your noble-blood is showing.”

Cassandra raised a haughty brow, but her eyes danced as they looked at the Spymaster. “If you choose to insult me further, I shall be forced to concur with your original description.” 

Leliana laughed and it was such a sweet sound to Cassandra. “I…would you like to take evening meal together?” Cassandra asked hastily. 

“I would.” Leliana replied without missing a beat. She tilted her head and took the small tin of cakes from her table. “These are from you, no?” 

Blushing faintly, Cassandra nodded.

“Thank you.” She opened the tin and offered one to Cassandra. 

Cassandra shook her head. “There’s not many, you should enjoy them.” 

With a smile, Leliana closed the tin. “Where did you get them?”

“We passed through a village. Vivienne knew of a baker. She said it was always worth a trip from Orlais to see his shop. I was hoping you wouldn’t think they were poisoned. Not to worry; I ate a couple, just to make sure.”

“That was my first thought, I admit,” Leliana winked. “Sad, yes?” 

The Seeker shrugged. “I figured. A tin outside of your room…I’d be suspicious. I almost left a note, ’Not Poisoned,’” Cassandra said as she made a scribbling motion with her hand, “but that seemed…”

“Ridiculous?”

Cassandra smiled. “Yes and obvious, I suppose. Do you like them?”

“They are quite nice, Cassandra. Thank you.”

“I can get you more. It appears that I will be traveling through there very soon.” 

“Too soon,” Leliana sighed as she placed the tin down right next to her worn copy of the Chant of Light. “Don’t trouble yourself,” she said. Then she turned and looked over her shoulder, “unless it is no trouble at all?” 

“Even if it were,” Cassandra teased, “I am certain of my triumph.”

Laughing, Leliana turned to face Cassandra, who stood before her, offering tins of ginger cakes and a wonderfully set jawline. Josephine was right. She was so very brave and perhaps… “At Halamshiral, in the garden, there was a moment, before Cullen interrupted.”

Cassandra raised her chin. “Yes?”

“How exactly did you feel about his untimely arrival?”

"His interruption?" Cassandra asked. Leliana nodded. Cassandra did not hesitate to answer. “I wanted to bash him with my shield.”

Again Leliana laughed, stepping closer to Cassandra. “He is not going to interrupt in here, I promise.” 

Surprised once again, Cassandra stumbled for a moment. Leliana thought she had made a mistake, but then the emboldened Seeker took hold of her the waist, and slowly, cautiously, wrapped an arm around Leliana, pulling her ever-so gently to her chest. Leliana’s hands came up to rest on Cassandra’s broad shoulders. The metal of the Seeker’s pauldrons acute against her ungloved hands. They both exhaled, and let the experience settle within them. “Do we agree that this is probably not the best idea…what we’re about to do?” Cassandra asked, undoubtedly an effort to cut the tension. 

Leliana nodded in agreement. “Most likely the worst, but at the moment, I cannot find it within me to care. If you are still curious, I am willing to satisfy it.”

Without further ado, Cassandra dipped her head and planted a rather chaste kiss on Leliana’s lips. Leliana was surprised, and Cassandra looked rather horrified by her clumsiness. However in her defense, she hadn’t kissed anyone in a very long time, and was a bit out of practice. Luckily, Leliana had always been an excellent kisser, so she took Cassandra’s face between her hands, and gave the Seeker a proper kiss. 

Leliana’s mouth teased and coaxed, helping the Seeker relax into a wonderful second kiss. They kissed like that for several minutes, breaking apart and coming back together again. Each time, Cassandra seemed more relaxed, more confident, and more passionate. And then Leliana’s lips were left deserted and she opened her eyes to see Cassandra’s normally amber colored eyes, dark and large – desire. Leliana would never forget that look, and it unleashed her own fervor. Their lips crashed together into wet open-mouthed kisses. Cassandra took over, pushing Leliana into and then onto her reading table. The wooden legs making a scraping noise against the stone floor. Leliana whimpered, grabbing onto the edges of the Seeker’s padded leather brigandine, pulling Cassandra as close to her as possible. 

Then as rapidly as it began, it ended. Cassandra took a step back, her chest heaving, her mouth swollen, and she gently gripped at Leliana’s hands, shaking her head, trying to clear the haze. 

“It’s just…,” Cassandra grinned. “That was… astonishing.” 

Relieved Leliana brought Cassandra’s hand up to her mouth, placing a kiss within its palm. “Why stop, then?”

Cassandra blew out a breath. “Honestly, I don’t know. When did the simple act of seeing you make me feel…” she put her hand flat against her stomach, failing to find the right words. 

Leliana grabbed at her hand. “I feel the same way. Kiss me again, Cassandra, don’t make me beg.”

“Leliana please,” Cassandra whispered. “You must help me.”

Alarmed, Leliana sought out the Seeker’s eyes. “I don’t understand.”

“I can still stop myself. I can still control this.” Bringing her hands up to cup Leliana’s face, Cassandra placed a chaste kiss on the Spymaster’s knitted brow, and Leliana understood completely. “But just barely, and it’s been so long…there’s so much…and I don’t know if I’m ready to...”

“Bed me?”

“Maker have mercy, have you always been this direct?”

“You know, I have, Cassandra,” Leliana answered. When the Seeker rolled her eyes, Leliana smiled, hugging Cassandra to her and allowing herself reveling in the feel of the Seeker. “I understand that you need to go slower,” she said. Although Leliana knew that some people may already consider their pace glacial. “We shouldn’t rush. Besides it’s probably for the best. You’ve only begun to court me,” she teased. “I used to have a reputation as someone who had to be pursued quite extensively.”

“I am not eager to hear those stories,” Cassandra deadpanned. 

Leliana waved a hand. “There is not as many as you think.”

Cassandra raised a brow but did not pursue it further. “And what of you? I am also a lady.” 

“Hmm,” Leliana nodded. “Lady Pentaghast. How could I ever forget? I have plans, do not worry.”

“Plans? Like sneaky, spy plans?”

“All will be revealed in time.”

From the dimming light, Cassandra knew she should leave. She still had to talk with Dorian and Sera. Lavellan wanted them to accompany them to Redcliff. “I’m sorry, but I need to go.”

Leliana slid off the table, adjusting her mail tunic in the process. “Oui. I have to go back to the rookery, as well.”

Cassandra resisted the urge to pull Leliana into her arms once again. Instead, she walked to the door. “Thank you, Leliana. Thank you for understanding. ”

“Of course, Seeker. Anything for you.”


	12. Time Changes Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leliana has a very bad day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope I still have a few of you still with me. So originally the direction of this story was going to be much lighter and happier but then shit happened, and so, it's not. At least for the next few chapters. I'm feeling a bit (or a lot) of angst is necessary. So for those of you that love angst: yay! For those that do not: I apologize - it'll get better.

Charter ran towards the throne room; or at least, toward the general vicinity of the throne room. Frankly, she wasn’t really sure. After all, she had only laid eyes on the layout to Redcliff Castle once and that was Leliana’s hastily scribbled version on the back of a used parchment. Regardless of the condition of the map, or its author’s penmanship, Charter was usually much more confident in her recall. At the moment, however, extenuating circumstances were making her feel rather discombobulated. Her eyes scanned the halls in front of her ready to dispatch any hostile beings she came across; hoping, all the while, any ‘dispatching’ would be unnecessary. Not because of any altruistic reason, but because she was in too big of a hurry. Charter was on a mission to locate the Inquisitor, or Seeker Pentaghast if she ran into her first. She’d gladly thank any god listening for either one. 

Right now though, Charter only knew where to find the Inquisitor: the throne room. That was the plan. Or it was the plan before this slight…hiccup happened. Their Spymaster and her small group of agents, including Charter, were to infiltrate Redcliff castle via a secret passageway. Leliana had apparently used it on her last visit to the castle. They were to work their way to the throne room, dispatching all resistance so that the Inquisitor could confront a Tevinter Magister who had somehow banished the Arl and taken over Redcliff! Everything was going to plan and Charter thought that it was all ending rather anticlimactically; perhaps, she would even describe the event as boring. There was hardly any resistance - a few Venatori here and there, but nothing as she expected. 

However, experience had taught her that Sister Nightingale could always spice up any situation. Charter could think of several alternate ways she wished that this “spicing” had occurred and not the version that was presented. In hindsight, she should have known something was horribly wrong the first time Sister Nightingale stumbled. It wasn’t overly dramatic, but it was enough to cause her nearest agents to reach out in alarm. Annoyed, the spymaster waved away they’re surprised hands. But when she faltered again, Charter rushed to her side, using her small body to cloister the Spymaster, allowing for as much privacy as possible. “Nightingale?” She had whispered. Maybe Leliana had fallen ill? Bad timing? Yes. But it happens. Charter remembered her own experience with a terrible fever whilst sneaking across the rooftops of Denerim. And Charter knew, contrary to popular belief, Sister Nightingale is not immune to common ailments. Leliana reached out for the wall, steadying herself before looking back at Charter with a dazed, but oddly relieved look. “They did it,” she uttered, right before her eyes rolled back into her head and she passed out cold. 

Ashamedly, Charter would have to admit it was a few moments before she sprang into action. First there was the exchange of stupefied looks with her fellow agents as they all blinked down at the unmoving body of their Spymaster. Shaking her head, and right after a good bit of cursing, Charter had commanded them to protect Nightingale with their lives and she took off in a dead run in search of one of the two people whom, she figured, would know how to properly handle a fainting Spymaster. 

Cautiously, Charter navigated the large castle surprised at every turn by the lack of resistance. The elven spy didn’t need the prickling sensation at nape of her neck to know it was strange, especially for a castle overrun by foreign occupiers. So intent she was on contemplating the empty castle, she almost ran past a set of grand doors – the throne room. Charter supposed that she shouldn’t have been surprised that it too was unguarded. Still, it was better to be cautious rather than sorry. She approached the door and with a ghostly pressure, she lay an ear to the thick wood. Hearing nothing but the rapid beating of her own heart, she slowly pushed one side of the great doors ajar, just enough so that she may peek through. The room was large, but Charter could hear the muted murmur of voices. On the far end of the room she could see a dais. The Inquisitor was there and next to her was that strange Tevinter mage, Dorian. In front of them a man knelt, he was supplicant, seemingly resigned to his fate. Behind him stood a much younger man whose hand was resting upon his shoulder. 

Charter did not burst into the room – she slipped in quietly. That did not, as she abashedly realized, prevent several people, she had regrettably failed to notice, from noticing her. Standing to one side were a finely dressed couple surrounded by many guards, all of whom pointed their lances in her direction. Needless to say, Charter stopped dead in her tracks. She recognized the couple as the King and Queen of Ferelden, and they looked at her with a mixture of confusion, surprise, and annoyance. “Forgive me your highnesses,” Charter apologized in as clear of a voice she could muster. She looked worriedly toward the dais. “Your Worship!” She focused on the Inquisitor and did not try to temper the urgency in her voice whatsoever. 

“Charter?” Lavellan frowned. 

“We have a…situation.” 

“What is it?” The Inquisitor stepped off the dais toward Charter. 

Charter side-eyed the royal couple but figured any privacy Leliana may have wished for was lamentably forfeit. “Sister Nightingale, Your Worship.”

“Leliana? What of her?” Now directly in front of Charter, the Inquisitor pulled at her arm gently, leading her away from the guardsmen.

Charter had never seen such a look on the usually unflappable Inquisitor. “I don’t know,” she said with a shake of her head. She leaned in closer to the Inquisitor. “She just passed out,” she whispered. “I fear it may be poison.” 

Spinning toward the dais, the Inquisitor pointing at the kneeling man. “Dorian, secure him and –”

“Find Cassandra? Yes, of course,” Dorian finished the sentence for her. He too looked somewhat troubled. “I’ll take care of it.”

And then the Inquisitor looked toward an elven woman standing off to the side, next to a pillar. Charter was very disappointed in herself that she had also failed to notice her too. “We shall discuss the fate of your mages later, Fiona.” The Inquisitor’s tone was firm but without malice. Then she turned her attention toward the King. “Your Highness,” Lavellan spoke quickly, “I beg your pardons, but there seems to be a situation that requires my urgent attention. I shall return as quickly as possible.” Charter saw the nod from King Alistair, but it was merely a formality as the Inquisitor was already leading Charter out of the room. “Where?” She asked, her eyes darting down the corridor. 

Charter sped off in the direction of the armory. “This way!” she called back over her shoulder.

The rough and chilled feeling of a stone floor against her cheek was the first thing Leliana noticed when she regained consciousness; the second thing she noticed was that she felt as if she’d been run over by a pack of brontos; and the last thing she noticed was that she wasn’t alone. This was the thing that caused her the most panic, and she frantically rolled onto her back, which caused a horrible dizziness. Vomiting, she supposed, might act as a deterrent to any assailant and she was about to involuntarily deploy that method when quiet but worried voice reassured her that she was “safe.” She recognized the voice as coming from Rector, one of her agents. 

Leliana tried to focus, but it felt as if she’d been turned inside out. She thought she had managed to ask what had happened but by the befuddled look on Rector’s face, she had not been successful in the endeavor. She coughed out, what felt like cobwebs, and tried again. 

“Have no idea,” he replied. “We was doing our thing here in the castle and everything was going properly, but then you was out. Just like that,” he said, snapping his fingers. The sound was quite jarring to Leliana. “Are you all right?” He asked. 

Leliana was unsure of how to answer. Suddenly, she was shocked by a headache of some magnitude, and with it another wave of nausea. It took all her willpower to not spill the contents of her stomach onto the stone floor, but she just managed. 

Rector watched his Spymaster’s face go ashen before she pulled the cowl back over her head. This was a situation he never expected to be in. He looked around to the other agents who all seemed very interested in the castle walls. Figuring he should do the same, he took a couple of steps back, giving her just enough space to be respectful but close enough if she should need him. “Go find some water,” he told one of the other agents. 

Leliana sat there for several moments with head in her hands. Rector offered her some water and, although she was very thirsty, she drank it sparingly. “Help me,” she rasped. 

Grimacing and unsure if moving her was the wisest idea, Rector hesitated. “Charter ran off to find the Inquisitor,” he offered as a distraction. “Should be back soon.”

“I did not ask about Charter,” Leliana replied through gritted teeth. She reached a hand toward him. “Help me…now. Please.” 

Without losing his grimace, he figured he could help her up on his own but the additional weight of that chainmail might make it a rough go. “Oiy.” He got the attention of a nearby agent and together they got her to her feet. 

“The closest room,” Leliana said as she leaned heavily upon them, “take me there.” 

They did as they were told. But they were not allowed to follow Nightingale into the room and, in fact, were left with very peculiar orders. Staring at the closed door and tapping his hand against the wall, Rector knew this was beyond him. “Wait here,” he ordered the others. “And make sure you do as she says,” he growled over his shoulder as he went off to find Charter. 

As Charter expected, the Inquisitor was very fleet of foot. It relieved her greatly as they raced toward the fallen Nightingale. Skidding to a halt as they arrived at the spot where she was certain the Spymaster had fallen, she was quite disconcerted to find no one there. Spinning around in circles, she tried to avoid the look the Inquisitor was giving her. “They were right – ”

“Charter!” It was Rector.

“I told you to stay here!” She was more relieved than angry, but showing the former came more naturally.

Rector held up his hands. “I know, but she wasn’t havin’ it.” He looked at the Inquisitor, giving her a respectful salutation. “Your worship, this way. She’s awake.” Quickly he led them to the room giving it a quick knock. At the Spymaster's acknowledgement, he held the door open, giving Charter a look he knew she would understand. 

“I’ll be out here if you need me, Inquisitor,” Charter said as the other elf passed. The Inquisitor said nothing, simply nodding as she entered the room and closing the door behind her. Charter then looked at Rector. “Did she say anything?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Rector shrugged. “No, not a lot, except to say that no one was to go in except the Inquisitor.” 

Charter was unoffended by the order. “And Seeker Pentaghast. She’ll be around soon, I’m sure.”

“Uh,” Rector hesitated. I mean most people that spent any time around the Nightingale and the Seeker understood that they had an…interesting relationship. He never dared to speculate just how ‘interesting,’ because he didn’t care nor was it any of his damn business. All he knew was that they weren’t exactly friends, in the traditional sense of the word, but where one went the other was soon to follow. As far as that weird tension? Well, he just assumed it was just residual _Left Hand/Right Hand_ business. Besides, he knew Sister Nightingale well enough to know that she only let you see what she wanted you to see anyway, so how could anyone trust their own eyes when it came to her? 

“Spit it out, Rector.” Charter was feeling unquestionably irritable, which was not uncommon after a giant spike of adrenaline. 

“She was very specific. In fact, she _specifically_ named the Seeker as someone _not_ to be allowed into the room.” Charter looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “She said it twice,” he emphasized, holding up two fingers.

“You sure?” She had to be certain.

“As rain.” 

“Fuck.”

Rector quirked his mouth in sympathy, but he was smart enough to be relieved. 

The moment Lavellan stepped into the room she knew things were going to become very uncomfortable. It wasn’t anything completely overt, other than the fact that Leliana had apparently fainted. It wasn’t the way Leliana’s eyes were hard as flint or her mouth grim and tight. Nor was it the rigid way which Leliana sat in on the small divan, hands clutched tightly in her lap. Lavellan had seen these postures before, and on many occasions. But this time every single thing seemed different. Slowly, she closed the door behind her. The air felt thick and settled, like a rain-soaked cloak that rests heavily across the shoulders. Candles were lit but the flames were low, barely licking at the darkness in the windowless room. Exhaling slowly, Lavellan took a few cautious steps toward her Spymaster. “Leliana?”

“Inquisitor.” Leliana’s acknowledgement was barely above a whisper. “Forgive me. I did not mean to make a fuss.”

“Of course not,” Lavellan replied. “Are you all right? What happened?”

Shaking her head, Leliana could not meet the Inquisitor’s eyes. “I failed.”

“What? No,” Lavellan placed a hand on Leliana’s shoulder only to pull it back quickly when the other woman flinched. “You didn’t. Everything is fine. Alexius has been -”

“Do not speak his name to me,” Leliana hissed.

Lavellan was taken aback by Leliana’s tone, and she pulled a candle closer so that she might see her better. Leliana’s shivering worried her greatly. She held up a hand, waiting for permission. With a nod, Leliana allowed her to feel her forehead. “You’re not well. I’ll have Charter fetch a healer of some sort. There’s got to be a spirit mage in Fiona’s ranks.” 

“No!” Her cry was hoarse but forceful. She could tell that Lavellan’s mind was spinning so she took a deep breath and looked pointedly at the seat next to her. “Stay,” she said through a forced, but well-practiced calmness. “I am in no danger. They cannot help me, anyway.”

Against her better judgment, Lavellan did as Leliana asked. “I don’t understand. You’ve a cold sweat at your brow and you’re white as a sheet, Leliana. Charter said you fainted; she fears that it may be poison.”

A humorless chuckle passed once over Leliana’s lips as she closed her eyes. “I suppose, yes. Infected. Over and over again. Cut and bled and…left alone like a corpse.”

Breathing out an Elvhen curse, Lavellan shot to her feet. It can’t be. She knew she had to get Dorian.

Leliana reached out for Lavellan’s arm, holding her in place. Leliana’s grip was tight and desperate. Placing her hand over Leliana’s, Lavellan studied her carefully. “Just so we’re clear: what is happening here?” 

Finally, Leliana looked at her straight in the eye. “The alternate timeline, Inquisitor. Unfortunately, I remember it.”

Letting out a slow breath, Lavellan dipped her head and she felt Leliana slip her hand out of hers. “How much?” Lavellan asked.

“Everything,” Leliana whispered. In an unquestionably cruel twist, she had become aware of her life in the dark alternate timeline that Alexius, desperate to save his son, created with his amulet. Confused with her mind still fractured, Leliana struggled to discern which memory was from which timeline. “It’s giving me a dreadful headache,” she groaned out between gnashed teeth. She rubbed at her head. “Inquisitor,” she struggled to say, “I fear that I have little control of my emotions at the moment, I…I…” Then she fell apart and Lavellan was quickly at her knees.

“I’m so very sorry.” Lavellan tried to comfort her as best as she could, but seeing the Inquisition’s Spymaster weep was completely unsettling in addition to being heart-wrenching, and it made her feel horribly out of her element. Leliana had never looked so small. “Let me go get help Leliana, I can find-”

“Wait!” Again, Lavellan was thrown off by Leliana’s vehemence. “Tell me that you fixed it,” Leliana pleaded. “Tell me there is still hope. That the world is not gone. That everyone still lives.” 

“Yes,” she spoke as reassuringly as she could. “I mean, if by fixed you exactly where we were before...than yes, we are. All of us. Cassandra-”

“Lives?”

“Yes,” Lavellan looked directly into Leliana’s eyes. “She lives, Leliana. I’ll send for her.”

Leliana tightened her grip on the Inquisitor’s arm, and shook her head. “I can’t see her. Not yet.”

“Dorian - he’s probably already sent her our way.”

“Ah.” Releasing the Inquisitor, Leliana slumped back in her chair and closed her eyes. “I’m not sure I know what is then and what is now. I didn’t want to assume, but I hoped that she was still alive. Sweet Andraste,” she exhaled. 

The Inquisitor studied her for a moment. “How did this happen? I mean, that you remember?”

Leliana raised her brow. “It matters not, no? It happened.” 

“Because no one else remembers. Why you?”

“I suppose, I am…special.” Leliana’s laugh was contemptuous. “The Maker’s will can sometimes seem unkind, can it not?” 

“Unkind?” Lavellan clenched her fists. And some Andrastians had the gall to call the Creators arrogant and petty? Could or would the Maker treat his most faithful so contemptuously? And if so, she was of the opinion that Leliana had weathered more than her fair share of her Maker’s ire. This was more than ‘unkind,’ it was spiteful. Lavellan was never good at holding her tongue over such things. “To what end? Haven’t you’ve been burdened enough?” Lavellan frowned. “Perhaps it is more ‘unkind’ to attribute this to divine will rather than an unfortunate side-effect of a bad spell.”

“And why is your explanation more palatable?” Her question was pointed, but Leliana still felt oddly comforted by the Inquisitor’s apparent anger at the Maker on her behalf. “You just said no one remembers but me, yes? So I am singled out by a ‘side-effect’ of magic? Does that not seem more ridiculous to you?” 

Stubbornly, Lavellan stood her ground. “Speaking as one who deals in magic - it doesn’t.” 

“Magic is a gift from the Maker.” Leliana smiled then, and resigned herself to her fates. “Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just. Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood the Maker's will is written.”

Lavellan knew enough of the Chant of Light to recognize the Benediction. “In _your_ blood, Leliana. How much agony does he require?”

“If he requires all of it, then so be it.” 

“Just like that? Seems a bit much, if you ask me.”

With a sigh, Leliana pondered if she had the strength for such an argument. But by the way the Inquisitor stood, with her arms crossed, she figured it was inevitable. “I know, that when you and Cassandra first met, she asked if you believed in the Maker.”

“Yes. She did.”

“And you answered, that you did not.”

“I have my own gods to forsake. I couldn’t possibly add one more.” 

Leliana could not help but roll her eyes at the Inquisitor’s dry wit. “You do not believe that it was Andraste who gave you that mark.” 

“We now know that it wasn't,” Lavellan replied, holding up her hand. “This is a misuse of magic, Leliana. Corypheus’ mistake. Let me ask you this: do you really want me to believe that the cause of your suffering is the whim of a god who has essentially forsaken all of his creation?”

“Whim? The Maker does ask for much, this is true, but it is never to appease a whim, Inquisitor.” Leliana grasped at her chest. “It matters not what you believe. It is what I believe! That is the difference between you and me. I believe.” She pointed at the Inquisitor’s hand. “Maybe Andraste did not give you that mark, but I believe she led you to the conclave. Your presence was the result of will, not whim. Is not the intention of whimsy, at least in part, is to follow one’s own pleasure? I am assured that the Maker finds no pleasure in this. You are leading the Inquisition for a reason. As I have put my faith in him, I have put my faith in you. All of it. Everything has a purpose. And for whatever reason,” she then pointed to her head, “this, that I remember, has to have a purpose!”

Lavellan paced around the room, she could tell that she had hurt Leliana with her words. It wasn’t her intention to question Leliana’s faith, and she let her own anger cloud her judgement. After all, it was Leliana’s faith that led to the Inquisition…both her and Cassandra’s. “I’m sorry, Leliana. I don’t aim to disparage, forgive me. Sometimes my mouth gets ahead of my brain. You’re surprised by this, I’m sure.” 

“Yes. Deeply shocked.” 

Lavellan was slightly relieved that Leliana at least recovered a small bit of her sense of humor. Suddenly quite weary, she slumped into the divan next to her Spymaster. “It’s just that I saw what happened to you in that other timeline. I do not think I would wish that on our most hated enemy, let alone someone I consider a friend.”

Reaching over, Leliana lightly rested her hand on the Inquisitor’s. “Of course, I know. I am not offended by your questions, truly. I would not expect anything less. Faith, well, it does not come easily. This is true. To not admit that I still struggle would be foolish, yes? Particularly with all that has happened. Yet, trust that I do not go blindly; I am not a lamb, Inquisitor. But must accept what I cannot see and trust what I can feel. 

“Sometimes…well, if I’m honest, most times, I do not like it. And sometimes it hurts,” Leliana acknowledged the last point with a fatalistic shrug. “The truth is, that what you see before you, is someone who has spent a majority of her life being unworthy.” 

The Inquisitor could not help but notice how sad that statement made her Spymaster. “I don’t believe that.”

“Shh,” Leliana hushed her. “I am in no need platitudes, no matter how well-intended. You have only known me a short while, how could you possibly know?”

Lavellan would not budge. “Instinct,” she answered.

Leliana smiled. “You are kind, Inquisitor. Regardless, I am struck by the irony of it all.” 

Raising a brow, Lavellan was unsure of what Leliana meant. 

“The irony that it his will that I show him that all of his children _can_ be worthy?” Leliana clarified. “Faith be my guide, Inquisitor. If he calls on me to be his spear then so be it. I just need to figure out which way to fly.”

“I hope that you can hear me when I say, that you carry too much, Leliana. You are so much more than just an implement of destruction.”

“I am your Spymaster, Inquisitor. I have already spun a thousand blades for the Inquisition. Do not fool yourself; I am destruction.” 

Lavellan was about to argue when she heard a ruckus outside the door. Voices were raised and then, “Let me through, Charter!”

“A moment, Seeker Pentaghast, I beg of you,” Charter yelled just as loudly, undoubtedly for their benefit. “Sister Nightingale wishes to speak only to the Inquisitor at this time.” 

Leliana’s face turned ashen. “Go,” she urged. “Assure her that I’m all right before she does something foolish.” 

“Oh like bash Charter over the head with her big Seeker fist?” Lavellan rubbed at her forehead. Tangling with an angry Seeker was not something that she did voluntarily. “She’s obviously quite worried about you. Why won’t you see her?”

“I cannot. I…tell her I will come and speak with her once we return to Skyhold.” 

Torn with empathy between her two friends, Lavellan wanted to flatly refuse. She knew that they both needed to see one another, even if Leliana did not agree. “Talk to her. Just let her see you, Leliana. I would be going mad if it were Josephine.”

Clutching at her head, Leliana felt as if she might break in two. “This is not between you and Josie!” She spat. 

“I know,” Lavellan replied quietly. 

“Damnation,” Leliana muttered. “Sorry. I’m barely holding it together, can’t you see?” She whispered frantically. “If I see her now…I just can’t see her _here_! I know you don’t understand, but just do this for me. I beg you.”

Lavellan acquiesced with a tight nod, but Leliana could tell she was not happy about it. Nonetheless, she was relieved. Unfortunately, she needed one more thing. “I thank you. And...if you would send Charter in, I will arrange to leave for Skyhold immediately. I would like to get head start.” 

If Leliana had not just been essentially ripped to shreds in the alternate timeline, Lavellan would have spewed several off-color responses to her Spymaster’s request. Instead, she plastered on a calm smile that she was sure wasn’t fooling Leliana in the slightest. “Do you need more people?” She asked. “I can have Sera-” 

“It’s all right. The agents with me will be enough. Just…take your time, Inquisitor.” Lavellan raised a brow and Leliana tried to clarify. “What I mean is that I wouldn’t mind if we could get a bit of separation.” Leliana clenched her fist, pounding it lightly to her leg. “I would like to get back to Skyhold first- before Cassandra.”

Lavellan held up a hand. “I get it.” She knew that more than likely they would have several things to discuss with the King and Queen of Ferelden. And that was after she figured out what to do with the mages. “I don’t foresee us leaving for Skyhold until tomorrow…unless some other world-ending situation pops up. Then, of course, it will be, oh, a few more hours, I suppose.” The Inquisitor softened her words with a smile. “You’re right I don’t understand, but it doesn’t matter. I will uphold your request. Please take care of yourself, Leliana. You’ll be the first thing I’ll check in on when I get back to Skyhold.”

Leliana returned her smile, but Lavellan could see that it held no happiness. “Let us not make Josie jealous, Inquisitor. She’s quite sensitive.”

Lavellan stood and gave Leliana’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I’m quite good at groveling don’t you know?” She looked toward the door, where she was fairly certain she heard a very distinguishable growl of disgust. “I best tame the beast before she barrels through your poor agents and that door.”

“I know what I’m asking is…difficult. Take care of her. Please.”

With a sigh, Lavellan nodded. “I will do my best. Promise you’ll do the same.”

“That is precisely what I’m trying to do,” Leliana answered honestly, then she gave Lavellan another sad smile. 

Outside, Charter kept a wary eye on a very agitated Seeker. She knew of course, that her pacifying words would no longer have effect, and Charter needed to decide if she were going to take on the Seeker to honor Nightingale’s request. The elf was under no illusions that the Seeker, in a fair fight, would best her in quick fashion. However, Charter did not fight fair and literally had an arsenal of methods that some would deem “dirty” at her disposal. And dirty or not, they saved her life many times.

‘Right.’ Charter began to mentally strategize. The Seeker did not have her shield, so Charter could use that to her advantage. And long swords were shite at close quarters, so she could come in close and stay close. But the Seeker wouldn’t pull out weapons – she wasn’t that angry was she? No. She’d simply try to push her way at first, then grab, then fists. Right. So, the Seeker was strong no doubt about that. Charter could maybe take two full on punches before she’d be slowed. So she’d have to be fast, or faster than the Seeker, who was bloody-well fast for her size. ‘Shit.’ Let her charge. She’s angry. But she’s also notoriously self-disciplined. Okay. Flash powder: dirty trick number one. Be careful of the eyes, don’t want to scar the Seeker for life. Nightingale would definitely not like that. Then fast punches to her weak side. Wap, wap, wap! But which side was the weak side? Left? right? Okay skip that: sweep the legs? Charter shook her head. ‘No.’ She’d seen the Seeker’s fighting stances. She was obviously taught to guard against and withstand sweeps. Sleeping needle? A quick prick to the neck should do it. Yes. Definitely sleeping needle. ‘To the void with your orders, Nightingale,’ Charter thought to herself as she worried her bottom lip.

The door to the room swung open, and before Charter could let out a relieved breath, Cassandra was upon the Inquisitor. “What happened?” She demanded. 

Patting Cassandra’s arm, before gently grabbing her and deftly moving her away from the door, she then tilted her chin at Charter. The spy understood and quickly slipped into the room, closing the door as quickly as she had entered.

With a tight face, Cassandra jerked her arm away. “Tell me, or I will break down that door.”

Lavellan put her hands up. “She’s all right, Cassandra. I promise you.”

“And.” 

Rubbing at her forehead, Lavellan silently cursed her life. Of course, Cassandra would not be satisfied with the short answer. “Leliana wants…she said she’d explain everything when you return to Skyhold.”

“Why won’t she explain it to me now?”

“I’m not sure,” Lavellan shook her head. 

“Auch!” Cassandra let out a frustrated snort. “You are absolute shit at this.”

Chuckling Lavellan crossed her arms and leaned a shoulder against the wall. “Yes. I know.”

“Fine.” Cassandra threw up her hands. “Then when does she want to leave? I’ll prepare immediately. You can handle the rest of this business.”

Lavellan looked around and noticed for the first time Leliana’s agents doing their best to be as inconspicuous as possible. She began walking down the hall. When she noticed that Cassandra was not walking with her, she almost stomped her foot. “Walk with me,” she said in a tone she would use with a child. 

“I don’t -”

“Seeker!” Lavellan wasn’t sure when it became her job to save these two from themselves, but right about now, she was getting awfully tired of it. “Just walk with me, I need your bloody opinion on bloody Inquisition business you daft-headed…”

Cassandra raised a brow. “Very well,” she answered calmly, a stark contrast to moments before. 

Exhaling loudly through her nostrils, Lavellan tried to regain some of her dignity. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

When they were several steps down the hall, Lavellan stopped and faced Cassandra, but before she could say anything Cassandra held up a hand. “She does not want to see me nor does she want me to accompany her back to Skyhold.”

Lavellan shook her head wishing at this very moment she could disappear into one of those forsaken rifts. “I’m sorry. She does want to see you, but for some reason…she can’t.” It was an assumption that Lavellan decided was mostly true. 

“What did she say?”

“Very little and it really should be her to explain this, whatever it was, to you. She said she would. She wants to talk to you back at Skyhold,” she reiterated gently enough, but it did not seem to matter to Cassandra, if the flash of hurt that crossed her face was any indication. “But she can’t do it right now. Not here.”

“But she’s all right? Or,” Cassandra looked confused, “unhurt, rather?”

“She is…in no physical danger.”

“That was hardly comforting.” 

“Bleeding thorns,” Lavellan sighed. “As we’ve already established: I am shit at this. If you want, I can try and see-”

Cassandra stepped in front of her. “I thank you, Inquisitor. But if Leliana does not wish to see me at this moment, I must trust that she has her reasons. Leliana will let me know when she’s ready. Do what you must do. I’ll meet you in the throne room.”

Lavellan felt for her friend as she watched Cassandra walk away. “Well that was fun,” she muttered under her breath.


	13. The Problem with Fermentation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So much angst. No Seriously. There's a lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that some of you are still with me. Thank you for your encouraging notes! Anyone playing Andromeda?

Very few bothered to look up from their cups as Cassandra stomped into the Herald’s Rest. It was not uncommon, after all, to see the Seeker stomping. The few that did lift their eyes were indeed surprised, however, as it was uncommon to see her stomping into this particular place. Tucking herself into a corner table, she barely lifted a hand before the barman placed a tankard in front of her. “Mead,” he offered gruffly. Cassandra looked up at him, eyes narrowed – trying to remember his name. He pointed at the drink. “The weakest we got.” Cassandra thought he might have winked when he said it, but it was probably just a twitch of the eye; she didn’t put him down as a winking man. ‘Cabot,’ she thought to herself. That’s his name. 

Cassandra muttered something that was supposed to be a thank you. She couldn’t help but feel slightly perturbed that he would be so forward to assume she wanted a mug of mead, which was _precisely_ what she wanted. Still, how would he know? She hadn’t even known until she stepped through the door. Cassandra looked down at her calloused hands. If it hadn’t been for the “helpful nudge” of the Inquisitor basically telling her to “give that poor practice dummy a rest,” she’d might have been, at this moment, trying to work herself to exhaustion. With a reluctant but, albeit, thankful nod she took a sip of her drink. It was good. She raised her mug at him. Yes. It was exactly what she needed. 

“Here for your illumination,” Cabot returned with a perfected glibness before his eyes lifted in the direction of the door, prompting Cassandra to do the same. A small figure stood framed within the entrance, backlit by waning afternoon light. An upturned eyebrow, which may have been an indication of mild interest, was the only acknowledgement from Cassandra as she turned back toward her drink. “Popular place today. I tell ya,” Cabot offered, his eyes politely moving from the elf everyone knew as Charter. “She’s a slight thing, friendly enough too, but I wouldn’t turn my back on her. Or her boss. Or any of them lot of spies.” The Seeker flashed him a look. “Oh pardon me,” Cabot corrected himself. “ _‘Agents,’_ as they call themselves. Necessary they are but…” he shook his head. “Just glad they’re on our side. But what do I know,” he said with a shrug as he relocated himself back to his post behind the bar. “I just serve the drinks.” 

At mid-day the Herald’s Rest was not yet busy. A fact, to which, Charter was thankful. Immediately her eyes had found the Seeker, looking as inapproachable as ever, grumbling something politely terse (as Charter imagined) to the barman. She was surprised to find her here, having searched most of Skyhold beforehand. With resignation, she approached the table. “Seeker Pentaghast.” Her voice cautious and apologetic, even though she was not the one to be apologizing. 

“Charter,” Cassandra greeted the elf evenly, but wasted no time getting to the point. “What message does your Spymaster bid you deliver?” 

“The _Inquisition’s_ Spymaster wishes to see you,” Charter answered, unable to prevent the protective bristling such a comment renders. 

At this the Seeker smiled, but it wasn’t genuine and Charter wisely created more space between her and the other woman. “Really?” Cassandra asked. “Now, she wishes? Well, I’m so thankful I’ve been summoned,” she said before taking a long draught of her drink. “Tell our Spymaster,” Cassandra said, wiping a small bit of foam from her lip with her thumb, “that I am…indisposed at the moment.” 

Charter could not help but sigh. As she expected, this was going to be…uncomfortable. “Very well,” Charter replied as neutrally as possible. “At your convenience, Seeker.” 

“Yes,” Cassandra chuckled, “at my convenience.” 

“Very well,” Charter repeated, not knowing what else to say. 

“Is she alright?” It was asked so quietly, it was apparent that Charter had not heard her. She cleared her throat and asked again in a louder voice. “Is she alright?” 

It was the question Charter had been expecting. Too bad she still couldn’t answer it with any real knowledge. “So she says. I mean, she says she is…so…yes.” Charter exhaled loudly, knowing she fumbled that royally. 

“I see,” Cassandra answered. 

As the Seeker twirled the half-full tankard within her hands, Charter was momentarily mesmerized by the muscles of the Seeker’s jaw flexing. After a several seconds, she shook herself out of her reverie. She had other things to do. And in fact, she would prefer to be doing those very things rather than shuffling her feet in front of a perturbed Seeker. “Shall I tell her when to expect you?” Charter asked a bit more forcefully than she intended. 

“Hm. Funny thing those expectations,” Cassandra mumbled before taking another drink. “I don’t know.” Cassandra shrugged. “Is she able to walk?” 

Surprised by the question, Charter took a moment before she answered, unable to modulate her own curious tone. “Uh, yeah.” 

“Can she speak?”

With a dawning realization that she was about to bear the brunt of the Seeker’s anger, Charter crossed her arms and silently cursed the Nightingale. “Yes,” she replied impatiently, ready to be done with this whole ordeal. 

“For how long?”

“Pardon me?”

“Since you and she returned from Redcliff? Since I’ve returned?”

“To my knowledge, Sister Nightingale did not ever lose the ability to speak whilst conscious.”

“To your knowledge,” Cassandra affirmed, leaning back in her chair and pinning Charter with a look. “Has she then simply lost the ability to speak to me, whilst conscious?”

“Please, Seeker,” Charter quietly cautioned, taking a moment to glare at the few who dared to pay attention to such a conversation. “This seems like a…private matter between you and her. Perhaps it would be best to speak with the Nightingale _personally._ ” 

“Splendid plan, Charter. One that I’ve tried to put into action – as you well know.” 

At this very moment, Charter really did not like her spymaster. Charter wasn’t stupid, by any means. And seeing how the Seeker reacted at Redcliff castle, well it was pretty obvious that her concern was more than that of mere friendship. Of course, Charter would never speak of it out loud and if she were honest, which she was occasionally, she wasn’t that surprised (although, still a tad jealous). But that was neither here nor there. The moment Charter was informed that the Seeker had passed through the gates, she figured Leliana would call upon her at once. To Charter’s astonishment, Leliana had requested quite the opposite – informing her that she were to run interference every time Cassandra sought to see the Spymaster. If Lady Josephine, upon walking in and hearing the tail-end of that conversation, had not given the Spymaster such a look, Charter would have believed she heard wrongly. 

The Seeker was wounded; it didn’t take an academic to figure that out. And Charter could not help but feel a tremendous pang of sympathy for her. Pursing her lips, and deciding to chuck caution to the wind, Charter blew out a small breath as she carefully placed herself in the chair across from the Seeker. Although the Seeker raised a brow, she did not say anything obviously waiting for Charter’s next move. The elven spy leaned her lithe frame across the table so her next words could only be heard by the Seeker. “Shall I tell the Spymaster to take a short walk off a tall tower? To be honest, I think it would please both of us if I did.” Charter held her breath as she waited for the Seekers reply. To her relief, it garnered a slight upturn of the mouth, which one could maybe call a smile, and a hesitant shake of the head. “Then I shall simply tell Sister Leliana that you, as you say, are indisposed. I beg your leave, then,” Charter said as she stood. 

“I did not mean,” Cassandra sighed heavily, “to be so gruff.”

Charter almost chuckled at such a statement but thought better of it. She shook her head as if she were untroubled by the whole situation. “You do know that I am a spy...for you guys, right?”

With a raised eyebrow, Cassandra tilted her head at Leliana’s lieutenant and laughed. “Of course,” Cassandra yielded. “You’ve encountered much worse than my sour attitude.”

“Much. To that end, your apology is…was unnecessary.” 

Cassandra shrugged then looked around the tavern. It was a nice place and thankfully everyone seemed to be keeping to their own business. Except for Bull, whom she just noticed. She turned her attention back to Charter. “You are heading back to Crestwood for a while?” 

“Yes,” the elf confirmed. “In the morning.”

“Then I hope the Maker provides you with a safe journey. Although, I am sure you do not need his help,” Cassandra stated with a wry smile. 

“I seem to manage,” Charter agreed. “But if he offers, it would be silly not to accept.” Charter turned to leave, but hesitated a moment. “I wish the same for you,” she said over her shoulder, before quickly making her way out of the tavern. 

From his spot, The Iron Bull watched as Charter left the tavern. He’d been there for most of the conversation, recently coming down from Sera’s room. He had tried to cajole her into joining him for a few drinks, but she mumbled some nonsense about being tired. “Lightweights,” he mumbled to himself, while also noticing that Cassandra was showing all the signs of getting ready to call it a night. Bull was having none of that. It was much too early and now he had plans. He motioned at Cabot as he pushed himself to his feet, then sauntered over to the Seeker’s table. Cassandra looked up just as he plunked his large frame into the chair Charter had recently vacated. “You know what your problem is?” He asked without invitation. 

“That I assume people won’t be compelled to tell me what my problems are?”

“Ha!” Bull cried, slapping a large hand onto the table. “Good one, Seeker.” 

“I try.” 

“Yeah sometimes that stick comes right out of your ass.” 

“Quite,” Cassandra’s retort held little amusement. 

“Anyway,” Bull continued after taking a hearty swig of his drink. “You drink stuff made for infants. Cabot should’ve put a nipple on that for you!” 

“I ran out,” Cabot retorted from the bar. “Your crew keeps taking them.”

Bull laughed and raised his mug. “What can I say, they love a good nipple!”

Shaking her head, whilst giving Bull her best look of annoyance, Cassandra then cast her eyes down at her cup. The golden-colored mead seemed plenty strong to her. 

“Ah!” Bull exclaimed just as Cabot arrived at their table, depositing two mugs and a sympathetic look toward the Seeker. “Now this,” Bull presented the newly-delivered mugs with a flourish, “is for true warriors. Hard bastards, like us,” he said while proudly pointing at his chest. He pushed the cup in front of the Seeker who looked at it with as much trepidation she would a high dragon. 

“What is it?” She took a whiff, recoiling quickly as the fumes scorched her nostrils. “Sweet Andraste,” she muttered. 

“Driiiiiink it,” Bull urged, but it apparently did not convince the Seeker. “Bah!” he bemoaned. Perhaps this would be harder than he thought. “C’mon, Warrior,” he taunted after another long hesitation by Cassandra. 

“Why?”

“Because you need it.”

“I need it?”

“You neeeeed it.”

“You speak nonsense.”

Bull leaned forward and rested on his forearms, regarding Cassandra seriously. “The Inquisitor drank it.”

Cassandra sighed. Whatever. At the moment, Cassandra didn’t have the fight in her. In perhaps one of the greatest moments of bad judgement in all her life, she threw caution to the wind and took a generous gulp- and immediately wished she hadn’t. To her credit she barely showed her distress, simply clenching her fists onto her lap until she could manage to rasp out the question: “What is this?” 

Bull laughed, slapping her on the shoulder. “You always regret your first, but you can’t resist another, am I right? I promise you it gets better.” He raised his cup in a cheer then downed nearly his whole mug. “Yes!” He growled, swiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “Maraas-Lok! Another!” He yelled at Cabot. “Go on,” he pointed at Cassandra’s still full mug. 

Cassandra shook her head. “I assure you there are easier ways to kill me if that is your intention.”

“Nah. I’ve thought about that, you know just to keep the mind active,” he teased. “I’ve concluded that there is no easy way to kill you.”

“That is good…I guess?”

“Very,” he said smiling and pointing at her drink. 

“I have yet to recover from the first drink,” she retorted, pushing the offensive concoction away from her.

Bull tutted and rested his head on his fist. “If it’s any consolation, you totally handled it better than the Inquisitor.”

Cassandra made a face. “It is a…small consolation.”

“Yeah, I knew it would be. You know what that drink is good for?”

“Torture?”

“I hadn’t thought of that, but no.” Bull shook his head. “Focus. Focus on the present; what’s right in front of you, none of that other bullshit. It’s all about that burn; like a dragon pissed down your throat.”

Cassandra looked horrified at the analogy. “Why would a dragon piss down my throat? And why would I _ever_ allow that?”

“Argh,” Bull pounded the table. “It’s called creative license. Like the shit Varric says,” he sighed. “Just go with it! Ah vashedan, focus on the drink; and how it hurts, and how you’re going to manage from spitting it out so you don’t look like a suckling who can barely heft a sword. Focus, Seeker!” 

Cassandra knew that Bull would persist until she did, so with great reluctance she took a much smaller taste.

“More!” Bull urged.

Closing her eyes because they were, in fact, watering, Cassandra tilted the mug and took a respectful gulp. If it was “better” a second time, she did not notice. “No more,” she sputtered, slamming the mug to the table. “That stuff is wretched!”

Bull laughed. “It is.” He pushed her original drink back in front of her. “But I am impressed that you went back in for a second taste. Most don’t.”

“Ah,” she coughed. Her stubborn streak always got the better of her. With marginal results, Cassandra tried to wash the taste away with her mead. “I suppose that makes me… incredibly daft,” she pronounced, wondering if Bull would think it rude if she were to wipe her tongue on her sleeve. 

“Nah,” Bull said with an emphatic shake of his horned-head. “Tenacious. Like one of those Fereldan mabari with a bone. That’s what I like about you, Seeker.”

“That I’m like a dog?” She asked dryly. 

“No. You don’t give up easily, even if you live to regret it.” Bull raised his mug. “To regrets!”

With narrowed eyes, Cassandra pushed the mead away and lifted the horrible brew that Bull was offering. “To regrets,” she said. It was the last thing she would say that evening with a modicum of dignity. 

It was not more than a couple hours later when Krem entered the Herald’s Rest. The tavern was lively, as was common for this time of the night. He smiled and waved shyly at Maryden who was changing a few strings on her lute, undoubtedly preparing to provide the nightly entertainment. But his attention was soon drawn to a ruckus at one of the tables. He cursed silently under his breath when he realized the cause. Quickly, he cut a path to the table just in time to see Seeker Cassandra put Bull in an awkward chokehold. 

“Of all the blasted- what is going on here!” He pushed a bystander out of the way, ready to help Bull escape the Seeker’s clutches. Although, he was quite sure Bull probably deserved to be in his current predicament. 

“Cremisius,” the Seeker greeted, with only a slight slur to her words. “So good of you to join us.”

“Krem!” Bull twisted his head under Cassandra’s grip. “The Seeker is showing us how she took down a high dragon near…” he snapped his fingers.

“Rivain,” Cassandra offered. “Or was it, Antiva?” She shook her head, tightening her grip on the massive Qunari. “Close enough!”

“Yeah!” Bull exclaimed as she waved him away. “She never likes to talk about her dragon hunts so stop interrupting!”

Cabot came by and placed two mugs on the table, and gathered the numerous empties strewn about. Abruptly, Cassandra released Bull to grab a fresh mug. “Good man, Cabot! You are a treasure to the Inquisition.” She toasted him only to then turn her attention to Krem. “Bring a drink for my friend, Cremisius. For a mercenary he is a decent soldier.”

“Yeah a real gem. Krem the gem,” Bull said with a snicker.

Krem raised his brow. Backhanded compliment or not, of all the mornings spent sparring with the Seeker, he had never once heard her praise him in such an…effusive manner. It was usually a grunt of “good” or “well-done,” but never anything put into a sentence. Nor has she _ever_ referred to him as her friend. It was quite obvious the Seeker Cassandra was beyond toasted. He turned to Cabot.

“Don’t worry,” the barman mumbled out the side of his mouth when he passed Krem. “I’ve been watering down their drinks for a while.”

With a nod, Krem quickly grabbed Cassandra’s drink from her hand. “Oh, okay there. Don’t they need you in the war room or something? Yep. I definitely heard that they need you there,” he said, walking around the table to hopefully steer the Seeker out of the Herald’s Rest without too much fuss. He’d have to kill Bull later. Or have the Inquisitor do it. No. Better yet, he’d have the Spymaster do it. Yes. Definitely the Spymaster.

Bull fell back into his chair, and gave Krem a tap with his boot. “Take her to Red’s room,” he tittered sloppily. “If she even has one. Is a rookery a room?”

“Shut up, Chief.” Krem glared at his boss, and luckily it was enough to make the Qunari think twice about saying something more. 

“No,” Cassandra pulled herself out of Krem’s clutches. “Under no circumstances-”

“Of course not,” Krem promptly shut her down. 

Cassandra narrowed her eyes at the charger, bringing her hand up slowly to point menacingly at his nose. “You are up to something,” she stated. 

Bull laughed. “Krem de la crème is in trouuuuble.” 

“Shut. Up. Chief,” he growled again. Of all the stupid things! If he were smarter, which he was apparently not, he’d have just turned around and left the tavern. Yet for some silly reason – Maker knows why- he felt the need to safeguard not only the Seeker’s standing but also her well-being. Who knows what the gossip hounds will conjure from this as is! As it was, he could tell the Seeker was in for a rather rough day tomorrow. He winced in sympathy. After all, Krem had been on the receiving end of Bull’s “Maraas-lok therapy” more than a few times. 

Cassandra slammed her mug down, her hand moving toward her sword. “Do you think I’m a fool?”

Krem took a step back, his hands in the air. “No,” he quickly answered. “Seeker please I was just…” he was halted by the sound of giggling. To his annoyance it was the Seeker.

“Did you see that, Bull?” Cassandra was now laughing so hard she fell back into the chair. Bull was laughing as well, all, it would seem, at Krem’s expense. 

“Yep,” Bull snickered, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Oh, ‘Seeker please.’”

“Ha ha, very funny.” Krem was really quite annoyed now. He walked over to the still giggling Seeker, hoisting her to her feet forcefully. “C’mon now. Inquisition business. Remember?”

Cassandra shook her head, but in her drunken stupor she didn’t object to being handled so directly. “Inquisitioning can wait until I finish my drink.” 

“Inquisitioning, huh?” Krem straightened the Seeker’s armor. “It would appear that you’ve finished plenty. Back to duty. You’ll thank me for it tomorrow,” he concluded under his breath. 

“Duty,” Cassandra said batting away Krem's hands. “It is always duty.”

Cassandra said it with such deflation that it surprised him. He gave her a pat on the shoulder as he gently guided her out of the tavern. “Afraid it is, for now.” 

When they finally stepped outside, Cassandra shifted and tilted her head to gaze upon the dark violet sky of a waning dusk. “I do not feel well.”

“I don’t suppose you do,” Krem retorted as he quickly ushered her toward some bushes. He tried to shield the Seeker as well as he could as she emptied the contents of her stomach behind an azalea. When she was done, he offered her a handkerchief, which she took brusquely. It was then that Krem definitely decided that he was much too sober for this.

“Don’t be mad at him,” Cassandra said as she wiped her mouth. 

“You’re talking of that lump-headed Qunari?”

Cassandra nodded, albeit very carefully. “He was only trying to…help.”

“In his way, I suppose,” Krem offered. He had figured that there was some sort of bonding thing happening. 

Swaying slightly, Cassandra steadied herself on Krem’s arm. “I’m really going to regret this in the morning, aren’t I?”

“Afraid so.” 

“Andraste’s tits,” Cassandra muttered, making Krem laugh at the unexpected curse. Cassandra looked at him with indignity. “What? Can I not curse? Does it surprise you that I’m not as ‘buttoned-up’ as you expect?”

Krem put his hands up. “Apologies, but you are pretty damned ‘buttoned.’”

“Why is everyone else allowed to have a drink, yet I am not? You are not my nursemaid, Cremisius.” Krem chuckled at the Seeker’s use of his formal name. She never called him that. “Uck,” Cassandra growled. “Just take me to my room, and if you tell anyone you saw me vomit into some bushes, I’ll gut you.”

“Fine,” Krem sighed. 

“I would hate to lose the best sparring partner I ever had,” Cassandra offered slightly under her breath.

“Understood,” Krem replied with a smile.” 

Cassandra nodded emphatically and pulled herself into her usual perfect posture. Unfortunately straightening seemed to have a detrimental effect and she turned green quite rapidly, hastening another trip to the bushes. 

Krem waited patiently as he impatiently warned onlookers to move on with a tilt of his head and a stern look. 

“I’m never drinking again,” Cassandra moaned pitifully.

“We all say that, Seeker,” Krem answered.

Cassandra gave him a sour look. “Don’t call me that. I’m a disgrace.”

Krem raised his brow, realizing that they had gotten to the ‘dramatic’ stage of drunkenness. “You aren’t. You’re just human.”

“I hate being human,” she pouted. “I can’t hold that Qunari swill.”

“The secret is,” Krem said as Cassandra took hold of his arm, “the Qunari can’t either.”

They were almost to the section of the hold where the Seeker made her quarters when Krem heard a voice behind him. “What’s this?” The accent was quite distinctive. 

Cassandra whirled around immediately. “Sister Nightingale,” she declared with only a hint of a slur but a whole lot of anger. “She emerges!” 

Krem put his hands out to steady the Seeker. “Oh thank the Maker,” he sighed. “I was just escorting the Seeker back to her room.”

Leliana folded her arms. “I see.”

The chill in her voice, propelled Krem to explain further. “She and Bull, well there was Qunari liquor involved and I was simply-”

“Do not explain yourself, Cremisius. It is none of our Spymaster’s business.”

Leliana tilted an eyebrow and chuckled. Actually everything was indeed her business, as her job title suggested. With a sigh she studied the duo. Cassandra, who could not handle the lightest of wines, would be paying dearly for this in the morning. _What was she thinking?_ Leliana thought to herself. Although if she took a moment to self-reflect, she already knew what the Seeker was thinking and why. “Thank you, Krem. I’ll escort our Seeker the rest of the way.”

Cassandra pulled herself away from Krem’s grasp. “I am in no need of an escort,” she huffed. 

Leliana folded her arms. “Clearly.”

Cassandra pointed at her. “Oh no you don’t. You don’t get to act all annoyed. I’m annoyed! Swooping in like one of your birds! Your assistance is not welcome nor needed. I can manage on my own. Maybe you can recall that I’ve faced more difficult tasks!” She tossed Krem a haphazard wave. “I bid you goodnight, Cremisius. And you Leliana - Sister Nightingale, Seneschal to the Inquisition and Former Left Hand of the Divine, and whomever else or whatever else you may go as,” with an astonishing dexterity, Cassandra gave her a deep bow, “good evening to you. In the morning, I’m sure you will continue to ignore, avoid and…ignore me. Do not burden yourself with the guilt of your actions, for I shall be doing the same to you!”

“You’ve repeated yourself, Cassandra.” Leliana’s voice was droll, but inside she was a bit bruised by the Seeker’s words (drunken or not). Of course she understood that she had no one but herself to blame. Although she would have never expected Cassandra, of all people, to make a spectacle out of it. 

“Oh do be quiet, Leliana,” Cassandra spat. 

Mouth screwed shut in surprise, Krem watched as the Seeker marched off down the hall. He had to admit, if it weren’t for the verbal diatribe, the occasional tilt of the Seeker’s shoulders, or the slight stumble in her gait, one might never realize that the Seeker were totally hammered. Cautiously he risked a glance at the Nightingale who simply shrugged her shoulders. “I trust that no further word of this will reach my ears?” Although it was phrased as a question, Krem knew that it wasn’t. With a nod, and a desire to leave the Spymaster’s presence as soon as possible, he headed back toward the tavern. Hopefully Bull had retired, passed out or both! Krem had no further desire to “caretake” for the evening. He just wanted to sit, relax and enjoy some of Maryden’s songs in peace. He figured he had certainly earned it. 

Successfully arriving at her quarters, Cassandra flung the door open in triumph. She then stumbled in, only to bark in pain as she immediately hit her shin upon the bedframe. Cursing into the darkness, she decided that perhaps some light would be a wise choice. She searched her pocket for her flint, ultimately brandishing it like a weapon and yelling, “Ah-ha!” It took her a few tries, but she managed to get her bedside candle lit. Satisfied, she then succeeded in divesting her person of most weapons and armor before sitting heavily upon her bed. “See,” she muttered into the solitary confines of her room, “perfectly fine. I’m not a child. I need no one.” Her hand flopped down upon a book hidden beneath her covers. She picked it up, trying to study the title because she could not remember it, but quite confident that she had read it before. However, somethings seemed to be wrong with the book. She blinked a few times, but it didn’t seem to fix the problem of the book having several overlapping titles – all of them somewhat fuzzy around the edges. Cassandra threw it mightily across the room, deciding that would feel so much better than reading it.

“Not one of your favorites?”

Cassandra’s face twisted in anger, but she did not look at the figure who stood in the doorway. “When sought, you are very good at hiding, but you always seem to be lurking about when uninvited.”

Leliana sighed as she stepped into the room, making sure to close the door behind her. “Yes, I suppose that is true.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

Cassandra raised her head, and even in the low-light Leliana could see that her eyes were red-rimmed from what she hoped was excessive drink. “Use that tone,” Cassandra replied. “The self-martyrdom is simply too much at the moment.”

Again Leliana was duly stung by Cassandra’s jibe, but she did not show it. Instead, she threw back her cowl and walked purposely toward the small reading table and the water pitcher that sat upon it. Luckily it was full. Cassandra watched as Leliana poured a mug, suddenly feeling quite parched. She was thankful when the other woman offered her the water, although she did not say so. They stayed silent for a while as Cassandra tried to quench her seemingly unending thirst. Leliana leaned against the table, her hands fiddling with the wood. It was almost civil, but Cassandra’s head began to throb and, as usual, her impatience won out. “For Andraste’s sake, do you not know how to speak in any other tone? If you came here to be silent do it elsewhere!” She stood in frustration and swiftly regretted it. 

Leliana was at her side immediately, taking the cup from Cassandra’s shaking hands. “Are you going to be sick?” She asked, her eyes searching for the washbasin. 

“Not if I can help it,” Cassandra groaned between clenched teeth. She let Leliana sit her back onto the bed. 

“How much did you drink?” 

Cassandra swore she heard amusement in Leliana’s voice. “One.” She closed her eyes against the light of the candle. 

“Tais-toi!” Leliana looked at her with much skepticism. “One? Was your mug always full? Lie back. ”

“What does it matter?” Cassandra asked with a growl while still allowing Leliana to gently push her onto her back. “I am an adult!” 

“A very drunk adult.”

Cassandra laid her forearm over her eyes. “What an astute observation from our esteemed Spymaster. Did they teach you these high-level skills at spy school?”

Leliana could not stifle her laugh. “How is it that you are surlier, yet more articulate when inebriated?”

“How the Void should I know?” Cassandra rolled her head toward Leliana, trying to focus on the other woman with some difficulty. After a moment, her vision seemed to clear. Leliana had pulled over a chair, and she sat still and calmly, steadily returning Cassandra’s stare. “Why are you here?” Cassandra finally asked. 

Leliana sighed. “We need to talk.”

Cassandra chortled bitterly. “Have you the courage now?”

“No,” was Leliana’s honest reply. 

Painful pounding of her head caused Cassandra to furrow her brow. She rubbed at her forehead. “I hate this.”

“I know,” Leliana answered with a sympathetic smile. “I fear that this will be worse than Rivain.”

“No,” Cassandra sighed. Although she was certain that Leliana was correct, it wasn't about the world's biggest hangover she was conjuring. She looked at Leliana again, and suddenly she felt the fight melt out of her. “It’s not that.” She reached out for Leliana’s leg, just wanting to make sure she was really there. 

Leliana scooted closer, making it easier for Cassandra to reach her. An overwhelming urge to touch Cassandra came to Leliana and she could not stop herself from gently smoothing over the dark strands of hair at the other woman’s forehead. “No? Shall I regret if I asked?” 

When she went to pull back, Cassandra grabbed at her hand. “Why do you do that?” She asked, hopeful when the Spymaster did not pull away immediately. “Touch me?” 

Leliana shrugged. “I don’t know. It is as if my hands…have a mind of their own. I should stop, yes?”

“Yes. But,” Cassandra shook her head, “I don’t want you to.”

Leliana entwined their hands further. “I know.”

Stubbornly, Cassandra shook her head again. “I’m mad at you.”

“Of course.” 

“Of course?” Cassandra frowned. “That’s all you say? I don’t understand you. I was so worried. What happened?”

“Sleep now,” Leliana said with a shake of her head. “We’ll talk later, when your head is clear. You’ll remember, then.”

“Remember?” Cassandra scoffed. “Every moment with you, I remember. Some fermented grain won’t change that.” 

“Shh,” Leliana hushed. “I think the grain has indeed sweetened some of your words.” Leliana tried to make light of it, but she let go of Cassandra’s hands so the other woman wouldn’t feel them shake. 

“When things become difficult you deflect with humor and I with anger. Quite a pair, we are,” Cassandra said as she pushed herself up. 

“You should lie back down, Cassandra,” Leliana urged.

“And you should not have ignored me for almost a fortnight, yet here we are.” 

Leliana stood, creating space from the truth and herself. 

Cassandra closed her eyes, rubbing her fingers against her temple. This blasted headache, she thought to herself. “See? Anger,” she acknowledged with disgust. “I wish…I were different. That I could express myself, differently,” Cassandra slapped at her leg in frustration. “Why is this so hard? Why have we made this so hard?”

Leliana shook her head but said nothing. She had no answers. 

Cassandra sighed. “Do you remember, after Adamant, when I had that…dream?”

“Of course.” How could she forget? “I asked you what you feared,” Leliana whispered, contrasting herself to Cassandra’s clear anger.

“And I told you I wasn’t good at talking.”

Leliana clucked her tongue. “We’ve discussed that already, no? Perhaps, we both need some work?” 

“Yes” Cassandra sad sadly, she then turned away from the Spymaster and closed her eyes. She was getting quite tired. But she had held these words in for so long, and for some reason, this seemed like the perfect time to release them. Drink had a way of loosening one’s tongue. “Once my greatest fear was feeling, no, being powerless. When I was young I would have dreams. Dreams that I would be trying to break through a door, and I would be hitting it as hard as I could, but I could never break it. Never.” Cassandra looked away. “I felt…weak. And when those mages…when they killed my brother all of that came back. And I hate it! I told myself I would never be weak again…I wouldn’t fail again.”

“You aren’t weak,” Leliana argued as she returned to Cassandra’s side. 

“Then why? Why does it feel as if I’m failing with you before I even had a chance to try?” 

“I…” Leliana was struck speechless. 

“I don’t understand you, or why I find myself in this predicament. You toss me about like a rudderless ship on the Waking Sea. Yet, I would sail away with you if you asked. Every time I see you I feel my legs tremble and I can hardly walk, but to lay my eyes upon you, I find it is a malady I would gladly endure.” 

“Maker’s breath, Cassandra,” Leliana replied, feeling as if the air had been sucked from her lungs. 

Cassandra seemed regretful. “I’m not like _her_ , Leliana. I’m just not. I can’t be.” 

The Spymaster stiffened. She did not expect Cassandra to bring up her Warden…ever. “Hush, Cassandra; you’ve had too much to drink.”

“You speak rarely of her. I know it's very painful for you,” Cassandra continued, ignoring Leliana’s statement. “But there was a time that you reminisced on how she spoke to you so sweetly and how she would leave you lovely little notes.” Cassandra clenched her fist. “I am ashamed to admit that I'm jealous of that. I do not know why I can’t express myself more…freely. I talk and write like a blunt-headed fool.”

“Shh,” Leliana admonished. “You are no fool. You are precise and succinct, Cassandra. Although it is true, you do not suffer flowery prose in your everyday tongue, there are times…there are times when your words take my breath away.”

“Really?” 

Leliana chuckled lightly. How can Cassandra be so ill-aware of her effect? She nodded. 

“But still it is not enough?”

Leliana looked sadly at Cassandra. “I did not want it to be this way.” 

Cassandra shook her head. “I can't accept this. And I doubt that she’d want to be the reason you’ve locked yourself away.”

Frowning Leliana paced. “I never asked, Cassandra. And please don’t presume to talk as if you knew her! It is pointless to discuss this when you are in this condition. You don't even know what you're saying. I’ll come back.”

“No!” Cassandra stood, abruptly, grabbing at Leliana. But Leliana couldn’t breathe. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be! She struggled to loosen Cassandra’s grip, but the Seeker would not be denied. “We are done with you getting to decide when we talk. I know exactly what I speak of, and I want to talk now!” 

Leliana closed her eyes and took a few calming breathes. She opened them slowly and looked pointedly at Cassandra’s hands. “Please release me, Cassandra,” she demanded quietly. 

Cassandra pulled her hands back as if she’d been burned. “I’m sorry. I didn't mean-”

“Sit down then, before you fall over,” Leliana ordered with little sympathy. 

“I'm sorry, "Cassandra said sadly as she collapsed into a nearby chair.

"Quit apologizing," Leliana said as she unconsciously rubbed at her arms. 

Cassandra folded her hands in her lap and waited. She waited for Leliana to say something more, but she did not. "I've come to fear silence too.” 

“What?” Leliana had calmed herself, but just. She knew she owed this to Cassandra, but she itched to escape. 

“It's funny. I find comfort in solitude but...silence....your silence, in particular, holds no solace. All I wanted was to hear your voice. To know for myself that you were okay,” Cassandra shook her head then rubbed her face in frustration. “But first you sent the Inquisitor and later, Charter? You wouldn’t tell me what happened and I still don’t know! 

“Yet the Inquisitor knows, Josephine…shit even Dorian does! Varric? Does he know? Bull? Everyone knows except for me! I can see it in their faces and have ignored it. I have waited, and waited for you to tell me. I thought I had earned that right. Pathetic,” she spat. “I’ve been so foolish.” The more she allowed Leliana to ignore her, the more she allowed Leliana to dismiss her, the more she allowed Leliana to act as if nothing had changed between them, the more upset she had become. Not at Leliana, but at herself. 

“Cassandra,” Leliana tried to interject. But was halted when Cassandra looked at her with such ferocity.

“Do I mean so little to you?”

And that broke her. “No,” Leliana fell to her knees in front of the Seeker. “Mon Dieu, I mean yes. Yes! You mean…the world to me. Please whatever happens, please, please know that, Cassandra.” 

“Then why?” Cassandra pleaded, her eyes wet with unshed tears. “What did I do?”

Leliana grabbed at one of Cassandra’s hands, bringing it up to her lips and blowing over the calloused knuckles before ghosting kisses along them. “Nothing,” she said then, she whispered: “Everything.” She felt Cassandra lifting her chin with her fingers and she resisted for a moment, unsure if she could prevent the dam from breaking if she were to look into the Seeker’s eyes. But Cassandra insisted.

“You’ve come to tell me that our brief romance has to end. Am I right?” Leliana looked away, but Cassandra put her lips to Leliana’s ear. “I am not stupid, Leliana. Your silence has told me enough. I know you have made up your mind.” 

Leliana thought briefly about trying to play dumb, but then thought better of it. “You’re drunk,” was all she could think to say. 

“So you keep saying,” Cassandra kissed Leliana on the cheek. “Recently, I've also been called…tenacious.”

“That’s just a nice word for ‘stubborn,’” Leliana, whispered, unable to keep her breath even. 

“This is also true. As is the fact that I will never give up on you,” she forced Leliana to look at her. “Now that I know the taste of something more, even for just a brief moment,” Cassandra clenched her jaw and Leliana knew that it meant Cassandra was resolute - to the very depths of her soul. “I will pound on that door, Leliana, until it breaks.”

The kiss was sloppy and forceful and Leliana opened her mouth to Cassandra’s tongue as the Seeker took what she wanted. A moan escaped her before she could come to her senses, and before she knew it she were straddling Cassandra’s lap. “Maker help me,” she groaned. Her hands came up to hold Cassandra’s head in place as she returned the desperate kiss. She felt the Seeker’s growl down to her core. Then Cassandra gripped her waist, strong hands pulling her closer. Leliana wrapped her arms around Cassandra’s shoulders and hips began to move of their own volition. 

“I love you,” she heard Cassandra moan and reality flashed back at Leliana. With and anguished cry she knew she could not ignore that horrible promise she made. “No,” Leliana gasped, but Cassandra held on tighter. Leliana shook her head, breaking the kiss and pushing herself off of the Seeker’s lap, almost falling to the floor in the process. 

Cassandra tried to reach for Leliana. “Enough, Cassandra!” Leliana was breathless as she moved out of the Seeker’s reach. 

Cassandra stood, and Leliana took another step back, causing the Seeker to frown. “I’m sorry,” Cassandra stammered. “I…wouldn’t,” she stifled a yawn. She shook her head in mild surprise. Considering what just happened, she shouldn’t be this tired. Damn Bull and his cursed drink! Cassandra rubbed at her eyes, stumbling back toward her bed. Yet even in her current state, Cassandra knew this couldn’t be normal. Then the room started to spin. _Shit!_ She looked at her empty water mug and then to the contrite face of their Spymaster.

“You’ll feel better after you sleep,” Leliana said regretfully in her defense. 

“No,” Cassandra spat. “You’ll feel better about this, not me.” Cassandra backhanded the mug and it flew across the room. “We are not done, Leliana,” Cassandra growled as she fell onto the bed, angry but resigned to the fact she could do nothing about this turn of events. 

“I cannot...this is for the best, Cassandra.” Maybe if she said it enough, she’d believe it. 

“For you? You’re a coward. It is easier for you to drug me than to talk to me?” Cassandra slurred as sleep overcame her. "Maybe you're right...it is for the..." Slumber had seemingly overtaken the Seeker. 

Leliana waited a few minutes as Cassandra succumbed to the herbs. Leliana did not expect that it would have taken this long. Of course, everything takes longer with Cassandra. She smiled, thankful that she was afforded at least a moment, but regretful that she had been so silly to hope. Still, she could not help but pray that maybe one day they could friends again. However, unlikely that may be. She covered her mouth as a sob escaped her. ‘What is done, cannot be undone,’ she thought to herself. She swiped angrily at tears escaping down her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. And then she was gone.


	14. A Wolf in Wolf's Clothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morrigan is sassy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suppose you could consider this a "filler" chapter. Nothing too exciting happens, just setting it up for down the road.

### 

“Cassandra behind you!” The Seeker had heard the warning much too late, unable to raise her shield before the wolf had lunged. The sneaky bastard had flanked her as she fought its brethren, silently biding its time to seek its revenge as Cassandra continued to dispatch its pack mates. She felt the stinging pain of sharp teeth tearing into skin as the beast knocked her off her feet. Her shield falling uselessly at her side, but her sword still held in a firm grip. As she went to raise her arm, she felt the heavy weight of the wolf, its preternatural instinct placing its paws across her sword arm- pressing it firmly to her chest. She saw a flash of blue to her left and heard the yelp of another wolf taken down by the Inquisitor’s ice magic. “Sera! Arrows to your right! Now!” The Inquisitor hurried her commands, but Cassandra knew the arrows would fly too late as the wolf bared its fangs for the final strike. 

Cassandra closed her eyes, but then a great roar erupted above her, and she could not help but see what sort of beast could make such a noise. Astonishingly, a giant bear with paws the size of boulders and dagger-like claws, appeared from nowhere to strike the wolf from her. Cassandra instinctively gulped for the air she didn’t realize was being kept from her. She heard the wolf howl in rage then the singing of arrows hitting their target with a thwack, signaled the wolf’s demise. Then the Inquisitor screamed: “Not the bear, Sera!” The command almost made Cassandra laugh. Almost.

Cassandra rolled over in time to see Morrigan, the apostate mage, and the Inquisition’s newest ally, step out from a dissipating blue fog. She looked unfazed, and haughtier then Viviane, if that was possible? One could be forgiven for thinking she had just returned from a leisurely stroll. 

“Andraste’s hairy eye-ball! Don’t you bloody tell me you can turn yourself into a friggin’ bear!” Sera’s tone held anger and disbelief in equal measure.

The Inquisitor ran up beside her. “Calm down, Sera. It’s all right.”

“Is it?” Sera looked at Morrigan, wide-eyed. “Is it?”

“Well I couldn’t very well push the beast off with my staff, now could I? Seemed only logical to fight brawn with brawn. If it disturbs you so, you have no need to worry. I have not a taste for scrawny elves.” 

Sera clamped her mouth shut, not sure if Morrigan were serious or not. 

“Shapeshifter,” Cassandra growled as she struggled to stand. “Just what we needed.”

“Indeed,” Morrigan replied as she offered her hand, which the Seeker ignored. “Tis quite fortuitous for you, t’would seem.”

A stupid lapse of concentration had Cassandra projecting her anger onto the closest target. In this case, Morrigan. The Seeker's annoyance seemed to amuse the Orlesian “Arcane Advisor” to no end. This, in turn, infuriated Cassandra even further. With her most pronounced grunt of disgust, Cassandra switched her wrathful gaze to the wolf that now lay dead at her feet, and then to the fresh gash in her leather trousers. “Shit,” she muttered as she noticed the red stain taking bloom. 

“Tis quite painful, from the looks of it,” Morrigan commented on the Seeker’s wound. She looked at the Inquisitor. “Are you a healing mage?”

“No,” Lavellan said regretfully.

“I suspected not,” Morrigan replied before turning her attention back toward Cassandra. “You might be pleased to know that shapeshifting is not the only magic I know. I once traveled with a healing mage; she insisted I learn some simple spells. I suppose I could conjure them up if you should require _further_ assistance. Fair warning, however, the part about easing discomfort never interested me.” 

“I’ll manage,” Cassandra mumbled, as she shook the blood from her sword. 

“Hmm,” Morrigan answered. “Of that, I have no doubts.”

Cassandra held her tongue within the iron cage of her jaw, wiping away the remaining blood from her sword with the small piece of cloth she kept at her waist. With a final nod toward Morrigan, she snapped the weapon into its sheath before she stomped away. Or rather she _tried_ to stomp away, as she favored the wounded leg. 

“A thank you is not necessary, of course,” Morrigan called after Cassandra. She was slightly perturbed when the other woman did not bother to acknowledge her or her sarcasm. 

“Let me know if you need any help stitching…that up,” the Inquisitor added, pointing at the Seeker’s leg. Cassandra did not acknowledge her either as she retreated further away from the group. 

“Most serious that one is,” Morrigan observed.

“Obvious much?” Sera retorted as she surveyed the carnage from their recent bout. “And these wolves were definitely not right,” she mumbled before following Cassandra to wherever she was heading. She wasn’t particularly keen on being around this new mage. 

“Don’t take it personally,” the Inquisitor spoke to Morrigan as she leaned heavily upon her staff.

Morrigan raised a brow. “Rest assured, I do not. I have assumed that the Seeker’s foul mood has more to do with your Spymaster than with me.” She rolled her eyes heavily at the Inquisitor’s look of surprise. “Oh was that a secret?” She asked with a laugh. “Tis not hard to hear the whispers if one opens their ears. Indeed, t’would be more of a surprise to me if Leliana…well,” Morrigan halted her words. “Tis neither here nor there. To me, it matters not.” And with a wink, she too followed Cassandra’s lead toward the horizon. 

The Inquisitor let out a long breath. Morrigan’s observations were right, of course. Cassandra, who under normal circumstance would never be described as jubilant, had been nigh unapproachable for several days -her countenance polite but taciturn. The message was clear: leave me alone. 

As Lavellan walked to join her group she reflected on when the current mood began; it was the day Leliana left.

>   
>  The Inquisitor yawned as she took the stairs to her room. Skyhold was quiet in the pre-dawn hours. She had left Josephine sleeping soundly and (as she smiled wryly at the thought) well-spent in her own quarters. Although normally she would have stayed until morning, Lavellan felt unusually restless and did not want to wake her love. Josephine has had little sleep of late and needed the rest. The last thing that she needed was an Inquisitor tossing and turning next to her. A smile flitted across her features because she knew Josie would most likely disagree. 
> 
> The room was dark and stuffy and Lavellan immediately opened the balcony doors. The sky was just beginning to brighten behind the mountains. Smiling, she opened her arms to the horizon, diminutive against the great span of peaks and valleys spread out before her. Taking a deep breath, she then twisted her torso, the muted sound of adjusting bones disturbing the silence. “You’re getting old, Lavellan,” she tittered to herself.
> 
> “Aren’t we all?” The response from the darkness.
> 
> “Fenedhis!” the Inquisitor yelped. Staff aglow, she quickly turned around to peer into her darkened quarters. She pointed a reproachful finger at the shadow in the corner. “I don’t know who’s worse, you or Cole!” Like an apparition, Leliana appeared out of obscurity. If there were any sort of contrition upon her face, Lavellan could not tell - the Spymaster was in full garb. “You know you could just knock…like a normal person,” Lavellan rebuked with a huff. She set her staff against the stone wall and stepped further out onto the balcony. 
> 
> Leliana shrugged and clasped her hand in front of her. “I wasn’t trying particularly hard to be quiet.”
> 
> “You do know that when you are not trying, ‘particularly hard,’ it is utterly silent for the rest of us?”
> 
> Leliana tutted in disbelief. “I was quite sure you knew I was behind you.”
> 
> “When? You were?”
> 
> “Hmm,” Leliana nodded. “I was, well, I saw you leave Josie’s room.” 
> 
> “Oh.” Lavellan colored slightly. “Wait…you followed me into my quarters.” 
> 
> “Yes.” 
> 
> Lavellan shook her head. “That’s some freaky shit, Leliana. Not really sure how I feel about that.” 
> 
> Leliana tilted her head as if to argue but then she just shrugged once more. “Like I said, I thought you may have heard me. But your mind was elsewhere, no?”
> 
> “Ya think?” Lavellan scoffed as she flicked a stray piece of debris off the balustrade. “If I had heard you, I would have politely acknowledged your presence, maybe issue an invite like, ‘oh hey, Spymaster. C’mon in. Let’s have a chat.’” The Inquisitor narrowed her eyes. “Do you ever actually knock?”
> 
> “Of course.”
> 
> With an annoyed smirk, Lavellan crossed her arms. “Just because you can doesn’t mean you should. Remember that.”
> 
> “Words to live by.” 
> 
> Lavellan frowned. The retort wasn’t made with Leliana’s usual wry tone. And in fact, her Spymaster’s demeanor now struck the Inquisitor as alarmingly serious. “What is it?” She asked, now worried greatly. 
> 
> “I am leaving…tonight.”
> 
> “What?”
> 
> “Tonight. I am leaving.”
> 
> Lavellan shook her head. “Yes. I heard you, but…what?”
> 
> With an expressive rise of her shoulders, Leliana came out to the balcony to stand directly beside the Inquisitor; her gaze scanning the valleys below. “The spy.”
> 
> Lavellan looked at her sharply. “Butler?”
> 
> “We know of his whereabouts.”
> 
> “Where?”
> 
> “Redcliff.”
> 
> “You’re not serious?”
> 
> Leliana gave the Inquisitor a look that held the resignation of someone who was no longer questioned the irony of a situation. Lavellan blew out a long breath and shook her head. The Inquisition first found out about Butler several months back after the unfortunate demise of their agent, Butcher. Subsequently, Leliana and her agents were able to piece together events and this Butler came to the forefront as the likely double agent. Unfortunately, he was able to slip away before confronted – a fact, which left the Inquisition’s Spymaster quietly livid for several days. Capturing him before he did any further damage was undoubtedly a priority, but something didn’t seem right. “And why are you leaving?” Lavellan asked.
> 
> “To bring him in.” 
> 
> “Our other agents, they can’t do this? What about Charter or even Rector?”
> 
> “Charter is coming with me,” she said, casting a sideways glance at the Inquisitor. “I’m sending Tanner to Caer Bronach, for now.” 
> 
> The Inquisitor shook her head. She was quite sure that Leliana would have all the suitable replacements taken care of; she wasn’t concerned about that – she was concerned about why her Spymaster felt the urgency to leave her post. “I still don’t understand why it is that you’re the one going after Butler. I mean in the past, you’ve been fairly adamant that your place is at Skyhold. I recall a conversation in which you said leaving your post would, ‘blind you.’ ”
> 
> Leliana nodded her head. At one time that had been true, but now things have changed. “Our agents have more experience– and, situations transform.”
> 
> “As simple as that, is it?”
> 
> “Why not? But I can see you are unsatisfied,” Leliana remarked correctly as she clenched the gloved hand that rested upon the balustrade. “I considered him a friend, once. I brought him in; I trained him; he is _my_ responsibility.”
> 
> Lavellan thought briefly about pointing out that the fault of Butler’s actions was no one’s responsibility but his own. But by the set of Leliana’s shoulders, Lavellan figured that any argument she might issue would surely fall on deaf ears. She sighed. “How long?” 
> 
> “For as long as it takes.”
> 
> Not good enough, Lavellan thought to herself. “I don’t like this.” Wanting to see Leliana’s face, she leaned forward to look past her hood. Leliana turned her head away from the Inquisitor, but not before Lavellan confirmed what she already knew. “You look tired.”
> 
> “I am,” Leliana said, not bothering to hide her irritation.
> 
> “When did you find out?” Lavellan asked. 
> 
> “Harding’s report came a few hours ago.” 
> 
> “You’ve already made all the arrangements?”
> 
> “Yes.”
> 
> The Inquisitor took a long moment, she couldn’t shake the fact that there seemed like there was more to the story. She played her card. “I’m sending Cassandra with you.” 
> 
> Leliana gave an exasperated groan. “No,” she said, walking briskly back into the room, the Inquisitor close on her heels. “This is a delicate operation and we can both agree that the Seeker lacks the patience for delicate, no?”
> 
> That brought forth a chuckle from Lavellan. “That may be true but sometimes an excellent sword is all you need.”
> 
> “This is not one of those times.” Had Leliana been herself she would have had lots to say about that sword comment. But it had been a long night. She turned to look at the Inquisitor. “Besides, she would never leave your side.” 
> 
> It almost sounded like an accusation and Lavellan took it as one. “But you would,” was the Inquisitor’s retort. 
> 
> Leliana looked at the Inquisitor, surprised by her anger. “When necessary? Yes. And what does it matter? I do this for the Inquisition. Who knows what sort of danger he has already put us in? Put you in.” 
> 
> “Bullshit.” Lavellan wanted to get this bastard, for sure, but Leliana taking it upon herself to capture him seemed like an overreaction. “Explain to me what is really going on,” she demanded. 
> 
> Leliana looked at her, exasperation clearly showing on her features. “I am going after the double agent who has cost me-”
> 
> “Us.”
> 
> Leliana took a breath. “Who has cost the Inquisition two lives already. Why is that hard to understand?”
> 
> “Did you talk to Cassandra?”
> 
> “What?” Leliana said with a shake of her head. “I just found out-”
> 
> “You told me, no you promised me, that you would talk with her. Did you?” Lavellan had finally had it. And she told her that a couple days ago. And despite the quiet urging from Josie to be patient with Leliana, because she knew that if her friend was pushed too soon the result may not be the one desired, Lavellan pushed anyway. She was through watching Cassandra struggle. She could tell that the Seeker was trying her level best to be patient, but she was obviously quite hurt by Leliana’s silence. And even though Cassandra had been holding it together remarkably well (because that’s what she does) the limit was fast approaching. When it was reached, it wouldn’t be good for anyone. It was time, Lavellan decided in the gentlest way possible, that Leliana get her shit together. Lavellan could tell that her Spymaster was quickly calculating a myriad of responses, none of which, the Inquisitor guessed, would be entirely satisfying. 
> 
> “Yes. In a way.”
> 
> Lavellan’s brow rose. This was the answer Leliana settled on? “What does that mean? ’In a way?’” 
> 
> “A conversation of the depth…required would not have been possible in Cassandra’s state,” Leliana declared very defensively.
> 
> The Inquisitor sat down on her couch, her forearms resting on her knees, and a very serious look directed at Leliana. “Okay, I am so very tired of having to end every one of my sentences in a question. So for the love of Andraste’s sacred knickers, will you please just tell me, in full, what the damnation you are talking about?” 
> 
> Leliana threw her hands up. “Cassandra was drunk. Very drunk. She and Bull at the Herald’s Rest. Quite the scene, apparently. I found her and Krem stumbling about in the halls.”
> 
> The Inquisitor opened her mouth in surprise. “Cassandra…and Bull? And Krem?”
> 
> “Krem was more of an innocent bystander,” Leliana answered with a roll of her eyes.
> 
> “Shit. Did Bull make her drink that Qunari death booze he so blasted fond of.”
> 
> “Of course. And nobody makes Cassandra do anything. Least of all, Bull. No. She did this of her own volition. I would not feel sorry for her.” 
> 
> The Inquisitor narrowed her eyes at Leliana. “Oh but I do. Can’t say that I blame her, either.” 
> 
> Leliana sighed but did not argue. She kicked an armored boot against the Inquisitor’s desk before she leaned against it. It was a point poorly taken, but well understood. “It matters not, no? She will be quite sorry in a few hours. Though the herbs I gave her should help.”
> 
> “Did you give her something to help with the hangover?”
> 
> “Yes. In a way.”
> 
> “Why do you keep saying that? What did you say and do, exactly? Did you talk to her? Explain to her what happened at Redcliff?”
> 
> “No.”
> 
> “Oh, Leliana,” the Inquisitor said with a shake of her head. 
> 
> “I cannot…it was…not the right time! She was drunk, she didn’t know what she was saying, she wouldn’t have remembered anyway.” All lies of course, but she was well practiced. “Have you ever seen Cassandra after too much drink? She’s a mess. The herbs they will help. She won’t feel so bad when she wakes up. I don’t…want her to feel bad. So I slipped sleeping herbs into her water. She fell asleep, and I left.” 
> 
> That was as close to a ramble, Lavellan had ever heard from Leliana. Still, she wasn’t buying any of it. “Oh okay,” she said holding up one of her hands. “Let me translate that from ‘Orlesian spy speak’: you’re breaking her heart. You know this. But you drugged her because that was actually easier than coming to terms with your own feelings and now you’re leaving.” 
> 
> Leliana narrowed her eyes, but that was her only physical reaction to the Inquisitor’s barb. Inside she was roiling, but there was no way she’d give the Inquisitor reason to see how right on the mark her comment was. “If that’s what you think, so be it.” 
> 
> “I have no idea what to think, Leliana,” Lavellan cried, throwing her hands up. “If you think leaving is just going to magically fix things, you’re mistaken. If you want to cock this up, it’s on you. I don’t know what else you want me to say.”
> 
> “There is nothing for you to say. I’m not leaving because it’s easier. I’m leaving because I must!” Leliana shook her head. “Forgive me, but it isn’t your place to play referee between me and Cassandra, not like this. Perhaps eventually you will see that what I do is necessary.” Lavellan made a face, which annoyed Leliana. “Fine. This conversation seems pointless. I did not come here for you to judge or lecture me.”
> 
> “Leliana,” Lavellan sighed, her tone softened, “Cassandra is my friend. _You,_ are my friend, and I know what happened in the other timeline was utterly horrific –”
> 
> “Do you, Inquisitor?” Leliana asked with an agitated shake of her head. “You were there for but a moment, and I lived through a year of it. It was more than horrific, it was unspeakable. You’ll forgive me if I no longer wish to talk of it, no?”
> 
> “Of course,” Lavellan nodded and slowly got to her feet. She walked over and leaned against her desk, right beside Leliana. “I just don’t want you to let what happened, what could have happened, rule over you now.”
> 
> Leliana chuckled. “It is true that you were lucky to revert the timeline. We were all lucky. But it’s funny that you use that term, ‘could have happened’. It was…is as real to me as you sitting there. Do you see? All the pain, the emotion, they are all still here,” she pointed at her chest. “It…is confusing. And let us not forget…all of it, _it_ could still happen. Nothing has been decided .” 
> 
> There was silence for a while. Lavellan had no idea on how to respond so she thought it best not to. Leliana was thankful for it. With a long sigh, she then reached into her vestments and pulled out a small, tightly wound parchment.
> 
> Lavellan looked at the parchment then into Leliana’s eyes. She let out a breath of disbelief. “That better not fucking be what I think it is.”
> 
> She witnessed Leliana falter, but only for a moment. It was a nearly imperceptible slump in her posture: like a flower wilting from too much sun. “Please,” Leliana said, “thrusting the parchment toward the Inquisitor. “I know I am disappointing you greatly. Perhaps you thought I was a different person. I am not. I am…not the person for her.”
> 
> Lavellan looked at the letter with a long frustrated groan. “Isn’t this contradicting the ‘it’s not your place to play referee’ bit? And does Cassandra not get a say in any of this?”  
> 
> 
> Leliana shook her head. “Blood and damnation,” she mumbled. “Would you rather I leave this outside her room?”
> 
> “No! I want you to give it to her. Or maybe, novel thought, talk to her!”
> 
> Leliana closed her eyes and exhaled a weary breath. “I cannot,” she said quietly, regretfully. “I thought that it might help if it came from you. I know you don’t believe me, but I’m trying to do what’s best.”
> 
> Reluctantly, the Inquisitor held out her hand, which Leliana looked at in question. “Give it to me,” the Inquisitor said gently, but with some impatience. Relieved, Leliana placed the parchment in Lavellan’s palm. “This is the last time I will help you break her heart and the last time I will be an accomplice to your own suffering,” Lavellan said. “Do we agree?”
> 
> “Yes,” Leliana said with a single nod. “My…thanks. And she will probably have questions; answer them as you see fit.” 
> 
> Lavellan let out a resigned huff. “It may not come out in your favor.”
> 
> “I was under no illusions,” Leliana answered with a kind but small smile.
> 
> Rubbing her forehead wearily, the Inquisitor wondered if it were too early for a nap. Suddenly the day felt long, and it was only just daybreak. “Gah!” She said propelling herself up from the desk. She would be changing no minds this morning. “What about the rookery?” She asked. “Who will be my Spymaster pro tem?”
> 
> Leliana straightened, glad to talk of Inquisition business. “Rector. He will know how to get word to me if something comes up that needs my…attention.” 
> 
> “I like him,” Lavellan replied than wrinkled her nose, “I think.” She wasn’t actually sure if she had met him. “Was he…?”
> 
> “Yes. He will serve you well in my absence. You will like him. He is straightforward…uncomplicated.”
> 
> Lavellan eyed Leliana, then carefully, she reached out to place a hand on her Spymaster’s shoulder. “Truth be told, I prefer my Spymasters ridiculously complicated,” she said with a gentle squeeze, hoping that it would impart both an apology and forgiveness. “Take care of this ugly business and come back to us in one piece.” 
> 
> Leliana nodded, letting herself lean into the Inquisitor’s touch for a brief moment. She didn’t have it in her to voice the opinion that while her body may return whole, her heart may never be whole again. 

Later on that morning, near mid-day, Lavellan had finally found the nerve to take the parchment to Cassandra. A quick rap on the door and it opened to reveal a thoroughly disheveled Seeker. “Well that answers my question,” she stated as she entered the room.

“And what was that?” Cassandra asked as she shut the door.

“I was going to ask how you feel.”

“Exactly how I look.”

“Well, you look like shit.”

“Precisely,” Cassandra said as she sat heavily on her bed. She held out her hand. Lavellan looked at it quizzically. Cassandra gruffly pointed at the parchment. “You’ve come to deliver me a message,” she stated matter-of-factly. 

Lavellan handed her the parchment, seal up. She did not miss the resigned set of Cassandra’s shoulders as she noticed it. “As I suspected,” the Seeker muttered. “Why have you delivered this?”

“She…asked me to. She’s gone. Only for a while,” she quickly added when Cassandra looked up at her sharply. 

Cassandra reached over for her dagger and quickly broke the seal. The Inquisitor watched as Cassandra read the letter, her face quiet as stone. After a moment, she got up and grabbed the flint from the table, lighting the edge of the parchment aflame before tossing it into the fireplace. 

Lavellan cleared her throat. “Do you want to talk?”

Cassandra did not turn to face her, only giving her a short bitter laugh. “No.”

Deciding it was best for her to leave, the Inquisitor walked to the door. “You know where I am if you change your mind,” she told her quietly.

The Seeker nodded. “She said that you would tell me everything that happened at Redcliff.” 

“Yes, whenever you’re ready.”

“I will come and find you later, then.” Cassandra looked at her. “I’m not feeling well at the moment.” 

“Sure,” Lavellan replied with a sad smile. “Just remember what I said okay?”

“What’s that?”

“About loving someone even when they don’t think they deserve it.” 

Lavellan remembered that Cassandra didn’t look so convinced when she left her that morning. Now, as she followed Morrigan down the trail to the other’s she had no idea what would become of the Seeker and the Spymaster. 

Morrigan, looked down at Cassandra who was resting on a log, rummaging through her saddlebags. “I have some thread in my bag, Cassandra,” the Inquisitor said as she walked by, already surmising what the Seeker was searching for. With a roll of her eyes, Morrigan bent down, and to Cassandra’s surprise, blew gently upon the wound.

“What are you doing?” Cassandra asked, right before she felt an uncomfortable tingling. 

“We have a ways to go yet, do we not? Better to be on our way than to wait and watch you bumble about with a needle and thread.”

Cassandra looked up at her. “You had no right,” she spat.

“And I have no patience. You will find, Seeker, that I have much experience with stubborn oafs.” 

For the second time that day, Sera looked at Morrigan with wide-eyed surprise. She had mad respect for Cassandra, but sometimes this surly attitude of hers was a bit overdone. Maybe this new mage would turn out all right, after all? She certainly wasn’t boring.


	15. The Stupid Business of Spies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rotten fish, a dreary cabin, Leliana and Charter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another shortish chapter. Hope you don't mind, but I figured maybe posting a bit quicker was better than longer chapters? Also (although I'm sure nobody gives a rat's ass about this except me) I've changed how I emphasize dialogue from italic to bold, like in comics. I don't know why I ever started with italics. 
> 
> Hope you are enjoying this long serial of angst. Please let me know. I do enjoy your comments. Thanks!

### 

With a jolt, Charter came to, her head full of hammers and spitting venom at whomever or whatever was insistently tapping her cheek. 

“There she is,” she heard him say. His voice was syrupy like he was wooing a potential lover. 

She shook the fog from her head and as her bleary-eyed world came into focus, Butler took shape in front of her. He was bent at the waist, hands on his knees, and his eyes (Charter once foolishly described as ‘kind’) were keenly upon her. He smiled, as one might greet an old friend. But with a lift of his eyebrow and twitch of the mouth, he became the double-crossing jackass he was. Charter wanted to instantly smack the smirk from his traitorous face. “You smarmy bastard,” she growled. She knew better than to lunge or show any sort of physical capability. She was tied to the chair and through some indiscreet testing, she could tell that Butler made sure to make the bonds secure. “When this is done, your shit is going to be seriously messed up,” she promised. 

“Tsk, tsk,” Butler said with a chuckle. “Such a dirty mouth.” He tossed a look over his shoulder. “Careful,” he hissed. “Children can be so susceptible to picking up foul habits.”

Charter looked over his shoulder and saw the children huddled in a corner. There were three of them, small…young, maybe around five or six years old? A lout of a man stood watch over them. His expression was one of boredom and he fiddled with a knife for menacing affect. Charter sneered at him before she returned her gaze to the youngsters. They were dirty, almost certainly hungry, but appeared unharmed. Most likely these were some of the children of the poor sods who had to work these mines. All of them just tools of convenience to a desperate spy.

“You look so disappointed,” Butler said, snapping his fingers to regain her attention. “As if you and your Spymaster would never do the same.” 

“You’re unhinged.” Charter straightened herself as well as she could. “Never even thought about it you bloody monster.” And it was true. She had never stooped to such lowly tactics. Nightingale? Well, Charter had witnessed a sheer ruthlessness about her, but she was certain the Spymaster would never knowingly hurt a child. She’d bet a dozen sovereigns on it. Looking Butler in the eye she sneered. “Kids, Butler? Kidnap and murder?”

Sighing dramatically, Butler sat in the chair across from her. “No one’s been murdered yet.”

“Neat,” Charter deadpanned. “What sort of coward hides behind a child?”

“Baiting me with insults?” He scoffed. “We’re spies, Charter! Hiding in the shadows is what we do. Of course, we’re cowards! We stab people in the back! Sneaky, sneaky, stab, stab,” he said making a thrusting motion with his hands. “Insult me all you want. It doesn’t mean anything to me. You know what does? Winning. I like winning.” 

“Good luck with that.”

“Said the knife-ear tied to the chair,” he replied with a chuckle as he smoothed his hair. 

“You use too much of that hair grease, Butler. Makes you look evil…and stupid.” She shrugged at Butler's resultant sneer. “You said I could insult you all I want. I want.”

It was Butler’s turn to shrug. “Have at it. You’ll end up like Butcher soon enough. That’s how Butcher died, by the way. Stabbed him in the back. Knew he was one of your favorites. Sorry,” he tried to look apologetic but failed miserably. “Shhh, secrets: he was sorta sweet on you.” He looked up when one of his henchmen entered. When the man signaled that he needed to talk, Butler held a finger up, cheekily signaling that Charter should wait for his return. 

Charter, of course, was spitting mad but she gave the appearance of indifference as she scanned her surroundings. They appeared to be in some sort of dilapidated cabin. Charter looked up to see a half-rotted roof. She almost laughed as it was not unlike the cabin from a few nights before:

Charter knocked the mud from her boots before she entered the ram-shackle cabin that was supposed to shelter them for the night. The condition of the roof had Charter skeptical. “You take me to the nicest places,” she mumbled as she followed Leliana through the door, only to be stopped in her tracks by a most foul odor. “Oh shit, did someone die in here?”

Leliana wrinkled her nose and looked around. “There,” she pointed at the corpse of a large rotted fish. “Someone’s forgotten dinner.” 

“Fenhideis lasa,” Charter cursed, doing an about-face out of the cabin to escape the awful smell. She scanned the nearby woods for anything she could use to dispose of the carcass. She certainly wasn’t using her hands and none of her weapons. The last thing they needed was to be found out because they stunk. The smell of fish could last for days!

Shrugging her pack from her shoulder, Leliana took a moment to study the cabin. Not that there was much to see. It was small and, in addition to smelling horrible, it was also quite dirty. But the roof must have been sounder than it looked because, fortunately, it was relatively dry. It was better than sleeping outside in the sloshy weather and it wasn’t the worst accommodations they’ve had in the last few weeks. She looked up as Charter entered the cabin with a couple of sticks. “Look. Beds!” Leliana said in the most cheerful voice she could muster. Charter mumbled a curse and aimed an annoyed glance at Leliana as she worked the sticks under the fish corpse. Then as quickly as Charter could manage, while balancing the fish upon the sticks, she took it outside. Several steps from the cabin she flung it as far as she could into the woods. 

“Gross,” she muttered. 

Charter dropped the sticks in disgust, and vigorously rubbed her hands down the side of her pants. High above her, in a nearby tree, a raven sat. Its red eyes darting between the elf and the fish she had so carelessly discarded. A raspy caw announced its arrival. Sheltering her eyes from the droplets of melting snow that still coated the trees, Charter looked up and could just make out the creature in the dimly lit woods of this forsaken land. Charter grabbed for the gloves tucked haphazardly into her belt, slipping them on before she held out her hand. She whistled a softly lilting tune, which Leliana had taught all her agents: the one that was imprinted upon the Inquisition ravens. Charter wrinkled her nose when she surmised that the notes were most likely an Orlesian composition. A flustering of wings was the only response, but sometimes it took a couple of tries. Gods she hoped it wasn’t Baron Plucky. That bird loved to take a bit of leather or flesh (if you were unlucky) with its talons. On the second try, the bird left its perch and swooped down. Relaxing her arm, Charter waited for the creature, letting out a breath of relief after it had landed gently. It wasn’t the Baron. Two messages were attached – one for her and one for Sister Nightingale. Cooing to the bird, Charter carefully took the small missives, tucking them into her cuirass. Then she reached down into her pocket and pulled out a small pouch of seed. She let the bird have its fill as she walked it in the direction of the rotted fish. “You’re a scavenger, yeah?” Charter quietly asked the bird. “There’s a tasty treat in the direction. Get to it before the wolves,” she bade as she lifted her arm, signaling that the bird should take flight. 

Inside the cabin, Leliana lit a small fire and pulled out a couple of incense sticks from her bag. It was one of the few luxuries she allowed herself because, beyond the obvious, sometimes a pleasant smelling room had several advantages. 

“Why the Maker are we still out here?”

Leliana looked up at Charter who stood just inside the door, her trail pack slung haphazardly over her shoulders. “Pardon?” Leliana asked, throwing the incense into the fire.

Charter threw her pack onto the nearest bed. “You heard me,” she replied, holding up one of the small communiqués. “Utterly charming, this place.”

“Next time, you can be in charge of the accommodations,” Leliana replied, holding out her hand. 

Rolling her eyes, Charter placed the message in Leliana’s palm. “Hope its good news,” she growled as she pulled an arrow from her quiver. She tapped its point against her chin, studying the straw mattress for some while. Finally, she kicked the mattress with her boot before she used the arrow to stab at the straw.

“Really, Charter?” 

“Do **you** know what’s been roosting in that straw?” 

“Embrace the Maker’s creatures, Charter. You’ve gone soft,” Leliana said with a quiet chuckle as she got up to retrieve her bedroll. She looked over to see Charter doing the same. The agent was quite meticulous in her nightly preparations. She knew this about the elf as they had spent a lot of time in each other’s company as of late. 

“Bears. Bears are the ‘Maker’s creatures.’ I don’t see you engulfing one in your long pale arms!”

Chuckling lightly, Leliana sat on the bed and quickly read the report from Rector. With a sigh, she tossed it into the fire. 

“What is it?” Charter asked. 

“Morrigan is traveling with the Inquisitor.”

Charter tilted her head and shrugged, throwing a bag of dried fruit toward the Spymaster. “She knows what she’s doing.”

Leliana breathed heavily. “Who? The Inquisitor or Morrigan?”

“Both?” Charter teased.

Leliana flicked her hand. “And Seeker Pentaghast has suffered a minor wound, **again.** ” 

Charter couldn’t help but snort at the tone of resignation and annoyance of the Spymaster - even though Charter realized that these days, Leliana felt less amusement by the Seeker’s propensity for injury. “Nothing for the Seeker, I’m sure.” 

“Indeed,” Leliana sighed. She hated how her stomach dropped every time she read such things. Shaking the thoughts from her mind, she held up the bag of fruit. “I would burn down a village for a bit of cheese,” she joked. 

“Hm,” Charter said as she chewed the fruit. “I think that would be bad publicity for the Inquisition.” She leaned over and reached into her bag. “Maybe these will help?” She tossed the bag toward Leliana who caught it easily. 

Leliana held up the bag and smiled. “Where did you get these?”

“Jader.” She smirked as Leliana eagerly dug into the small bag of sweets. “How you still have all your teeth is a miracle.”

Leliana smiled brightly showing off a row of healthy white teeth.

“Hey, don’t eat them all. Save some for me,” Charter exclaimed.

“Um, I’ll try,” Leliana teased as she placed a sweet in her mouth. “These are really good.”

“Not as good as ginger cakes, though.” 

It was an off-handed tease but it stopped Leliana in mid-chew. “And what would you know of ginger cakes?”

“In tins with red bows?” Charter shrugged. “Nothing at all.”

Leliana narrowed her eyes at her agent. After a moment, she sat back against the wall, lazily looking through the bag of sweets. “You haven’t given me a report on our Magekillers. How are they? Marius and Tessa?” She asked before tossing the bag toward Charter. 

Charter’s smile was as relaxed as Leliana’s, but she did not miss the sting in the question. She caught the bag easily, weighing it her hand before she stuffed it back into her pack. “Still in the Hissing Wastes,” she answered. “Dutifully doing as the Inquisition asks.” 

“Ah,” Leliana said. “They’ve become quite the assets. Where should we send them next?”

Trying not to visibly bristle as the “assets” comment, Charter began to untie her boots. “I don’t know, Sister Nightingale. I suppose wherever the Inquisition needs them.”

Leliana gave Charter a look. “Just that easy?”

Charter exhaled noisily as she pulled off her boot, letting it fall to the floor with a thud. “I believe you know the answer to that,” she replied sharply. Charter stood and began to remove her leathers. “The Inquisitor’s group, where are they?”

“North of Lake Celestine.” 

“Do they know where we are?” Charter asked. Leliana indicated that they did not. Charter worried her lower lip a moment. “The Seeker does –”

“Do not worry yourself over that, Charter.” It was a warning, however, thinly veiled. 

Divested of all outer garments, Charter sat clumsily on the bed. Leaning back onto her forearms she looked intently at Leliana. “We’re closing in. And thank the Maker because, no offense, I’ve had enough ‘alone’ time with you.”

Leliana placed a hand over her heart. “You wound me.” 

“If only.”

Leliana chuckled, then got up to remove her own armors. She was not wearing the chainmail she donned in Skyhold, but rather a lighter, more practical, leather set. She quirked an eyebrow as Charter pushed herself to her feet and came to stand behind her.

“What would you do, if you traveled alone?” Charter asked.

Leliana looked over her shoulder as Charter began to unclasp the buckles at her lower back. “I am not alone, so why speculate?” She answered with a wink as Charter flipped the clasp on a buckle. “I can manage those buckles myself, you know?”

“Can you? With that shoulder?” Charter scoffed. “You almost had it pulled clear out of the socket. You try and hide it, but I imagine it hurts like the blight every time you move it.” Leliana tutted but she did not deny it outright. It was a stupid thing really. She exhaled in disgust, causing Charter to give her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Don’t be too hard on yourself,” she said. “That guy was stupid big. Amazin’ that he didn’t tear your arm clean off.” 

Leliana frowned. She knew that brigand should never have gotten close enough to touch her. Charter leaned forward to give her Spymaster a reassuring nod. “Got ‘em in the end,” she said. “Like always.” Charter gave the straps a playful tug. “Don’t get spoiled by all this special treatment, by the way.”

“Never, mon ami.” 

“Alright,” Charter hummed, pointing a finger at Leliana as she sat back down on her bed. “Back to business, Nightingale.” 

“What more is there to discuss?” Leliana placed her leather hauberk on a nearby chair and undid the top two buttons of her undershirt. “Butler is in Sahrnia.”

“If our intelligence is correct.”

“A lie, you suspect?”

Charter shrugged. How much does one ever trust a henchman? “Your interrogation was – ”

“Necessary,” Leliana answered as she gingerly rotated her shoulder. “He was too scared to lie.” 

“Even so. Butler is good, Leliana. Very good. And in Sahrnia there is a sympathetic patron. It would be nice to have some escape routes covered.” 

No,” Leliana answered before the question was asked. She knew what Charter was going to say because it made perfect sense. And if Leliana had the capacity to think as she normally would in matters involving Cassandra, it would be done. Instead, she shook her head obstinately. “Too risky,” she added, mostly for her own benefit. “Besides the town is riddled underground passages for the mines. How would we possibly cover all escape routes? Our best strategy is surprise.”

“Bollocks.”

Leliana looked at Charter in surprise. “What’s this?”

Charter relaxed onto the bed and looked up at the off-kilter roof. If that doesn’t fall down on us it’ll be a miracle, she thought to herself. “Let’s be serious, Leliana.” Charter knew Leliana was being straight up absurd and extraordinarily stubborn. And Leliana knew that Charter was never one to hold her tongue when it came to such. So this was a conversation ripe in the making. “You don’t think we can still have the element of surprise? I think discreetly sneaking into a village is not outside of their skillsets. Besides…,” Charter looked down at her bedroll, casually flinging a speck of dried fruit from its roughly-hewn wool. “I’ve already sent the message.”

Tilting her head, Leliana let her eyes bore into the elf. She could not decide if she were expecting Charter’s actions or were surprised by them. After a moment, she spoke. “You did what?” It was asked with a quietness that Charter knew foretold trouble. 

Charter sat up quickly, ready to face the Spymaster’s anger head-on. “I sent the message. I wasn’t trying to undermine you, but tactically this just made sense. They can secure the routes from the opposite side. We can set a trap! One that Butler cannot escape from. I’m getting tired of chasing this bastard all across Thedas! Aren’t you?”

“You’re tired?” Leliana asked with a raised brow. Leliana stood, fists clenched. “You have overstepped, ‘Mollnir’.” 

Leliana’s use of this one particular alias, was not new, and it caused Charter to chuckle bitterly. Leliana had divulged knowledge of it once when threatening to turn Charter into the Crows. It was quite a rancorous stage of their relationship. And back then, Charter knew that Leliana would have had no qualms about throwing her to the wolves. Now, however…“If you were serious about that threat, Sister Nightingale, surely you would have used it by now. We both carry our fair share of secrets. Let them not be the cause of our foolishness.”

“Easier said than done,” Leliana answered. Her Spymaster persona now fully in place.

“This stupid business of spies,” Charter bemoaned with a sigh. “For one single evening, can we please just talk to each other without thinking each phrase has an ulterior motive?”

“And yet you have gone and done this behind my back. What you say is…naïve, Charter,” Leliana said with an unsympathetic laugh. “Trust, it seems, is the luxury we do not have, no?”

“Oh come on,” Charter decried. “You’re being a bit dramatic, don’t you think?” 

“Ah.” Leliana rubbed her forehead wearily. “We can only change the costume, but we cannot change the fact that we are who we are,” she held out her arms. “We are spies, bards, assassins, agents. Whatever it is you prefer. And I am your Spymaster. Or have you been promoted without my knowledge? ” Leliana asked superfluously as she stalked around the room. “Mere months ago this was just a convenient job, no? A cause that held no meaning.”

Charter shook her head. “I have no desire to usurp your position, Spymaster. Nor would I ever betray you. **Ever**. I think you know that.”

Leliana made disgusted interjection and waved her hand dismissively. “As you say.” 

“As far as this cause: mere months ago,” Charter continued, “as you say, I was doing wet work for the Left Hand of the Divine. But that was when we still had a Divine, before the disastrous conclave, the breach or an elf with a glowing hand! We did not know of Corypheus and red lyrium! So yes, you did recruit me and maybe I didn’t join for the most altruistic reasons. Maybe just like everyone else, I just wanted a safe harbor in the middle of all this mess. Luckily I have a very particular skillset that makes me really bloody useful. Forgive me if that’s not terribly heroic. We can’t all be like you,” she said with a melancholic smile. “But you know what, this is my world too and I’d like for it to survive. And I’d like for the people I care about to survive as well. So yeah this shit means something to me now. Better late than never, right?”

Leliana appeared to be unmoved. “Then trust that I speak for the cause, which you are newly sympathetic. You **will** take your orders from me.”

“Gladly.” 

“Pffh! Except when you don’t agree?”

Charter knew this was not going to be a pleasant conversation. Charter had already dropped several cues about involving the Inquisitor but each time Leliana had brushed them aside. But Charter worried. For the longer they were out, the more distant Leliana became to the Inquisition. Leliana seemed to be forgetting herself when, in Charter’s opinion, it appeared that during these last several months, Leliana was finally finding herself again. It was as if she were realizing she wasn’t supposed to be the unfeeling blade she was trying to mold herself into. A lightness seemed to creep in and there were more smiles and more witticisms and a bit more…kindness. Agents no longer hurried to part her company once they had received their orders.

But then Redcliff. And Butler. It was so easy to focus on a spy and his betrayal. Yes, it had consequences for the Inquisition: agents lost, and other effects not yet revealed. But whatever Leliana thought, Charter was not naive. She knew that Leliana had begun to use this pursuit of Butler as an excuse. How easy it is to lose oneself to retribution. Charter had decided that this Butler business must end, in any way possible, for the Inquisition’s sake. Leliana’s devotion, her faith, her skills, her humanity – all of it was too important for the Inquisition to lose. With a sigh, Charter shrugged and answered Leliana’s question: “When I know you’re not thinking clearly.” 

Leliana bristled. “Oh, you get to choose when it's appropriate? When I'm 'not thinking clearly.' You know such things how?”

“Leliana,” Charter chided. 

“Oh I see. Is it because we fucked a few times? You've gained some insight with your head between my legs?”

Charter blinked rapidly. No. This was not going well at all. “Leliana, please,” she tried again. This was the first time that Leliana had referred to their past intimacies so crudely. She hated to admit that it stung a little. “You sound...boorish.” 

Leliana taunted Charter with a cold smirk. “It was about pleasure Charter; it was not a promise and not an invitation! You are an agent – an instrument of the Inquisition. That is how I see you. Nothing more. If you thought differently, you were mistaken.”

Choosing not to reply because she might say something she couldn’t take back, Charter simply narrowed her eyes at Leliana before shrugging and scooting further onto the bed. Leaning casually against the wall, she folded her arms and took a moment to look at her Spymaster. Leliana’s stance was rigid yet restless. Her blue eyes were steady enough – challenging the elf to argue. But Charter sensed that behind all that, Leliana already regretted what she had said. Leliana felt cornered so she fought back tooth and nail. This reminded Charter of a time before the fifth blight when they had somehow crossed paths again. Back then, Leliana was just forming this persona. It wasn’t nearly as refined as it is now; when the curtain, so to speak, could be raised and lowered at her whim. But definitely gone was the girl she had met before. The one who had giggled and flirted with batted lashes; the one who loved to embellish the stories of her misadventures with her two best mates, Tug and Sketch. The girl who believed she was not only in love with Marjolaine but that her mistress loved her back. Leliana was more like she is right at this very moment: all snarls and bites. This change, Charter figured, was as it was with everyone who chose to follow the path of a bard – when the consequences of their actions became realized. 

However, it wasn’t until after the blight that Charter fully understood why Leliana had changed so much. And despite her best efforts, she begrudgingly harbored a fondness for the redheaded bard. Even now she marveled that she could not hold her anger at Leliana’s harsh words. Charter blew out a weary breath and spoke softly. “And I believe that just as much as you do. But you seem to lose yourself, Spymaster. I held no expectations except that of friendship- something that I believe we are both worthy of.”

Leliana was not ready to be convinced. “You are a fool,” she spat. 

“Maybe. But please forgive me Leliana, it seems as if I’m having déjà vu. When we were younger, all of this would have made more sense. But now…” Charter shook her head. “Why is it that you insist on learning all your lessons the hard way? How many more scars do you need?” 

“Again you overstep, Charter,” Leliana replied quietly, but the anger in her eyes shone brightly. “Dare not do it again. And since you know me so well, you shall know that is not a threat but a promise,” she said, pointing menacingly at Charter. “I need some air.”

They did not speak when Leliana came back, nor the next day. It wasn’t until they were seated in a tavern near Sahrnia, and only after they were delivered a message from its patron, that they uttered sentences to one another. “This is a trap, Leliana,” Charter declared. 

“Of course it is,” Leliana answered as she folded the message into a neat square. 

“So we are saving the children then?”

Tucking the message into her gauntlet, Leliana looked at Charter, giving her a rueful smile. “I am. I would not ask you to -” 

“Bollocks,” Charter said, standing abruptly. “Let’s get on with it then.” Leliana could not help but chuckle. “Oh don’t be getting ahead of yourself, Sister Nightingale,” Charter replied with a cheeky grin. “I wouldn’t dare go back to Skyhold without you. Go willingly into a trap set by murderous zealots or face the wrath of Seeker Cassandra? It’s an easy decision from where I stand. I’ll see you at the murderous trap.” She clapped Leliana on the shoulder then strode confidently out of the tavern. In truth, she was unsure if they would ever see Skyhold again.

Leliana watched Charter leave, the smile slowly fading from her face. It seemed that reckless determination was a trait that all of her…friends (however small that circle was) shared. Leliana sighed heavily, suddenly quite ashamed of how she had spoken to Charter. She shook her head. What a mess she could make of things. She would make a point to apologize properly, even though she knew Charter would not expect one. She still didn't like what Charter had done, but she'd try to express that in a more civil manner. If she got the chance. She twirled the mug of ale that rested between her hands. She took a moment to silently send a prayer to the Maker. Just one more request upon the others. Perhaps he would see fit to grant her more than one?


	16. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst. So much angst. And creepy villain types.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. I'm still here. Hiatus was necessary, unfortunately. A longer chapter as a peace offering.
> 
> Thank you to all of those that are still reading this. I didn't plan on it being such a serial but...

Resting her hand on a low branch, Leliana felt the effects of the chilly evening through her gloved hand. She exhaled and watched the fog of her breath roll from her shadowed lair out over a moon-brightened swath of snow. She pulled her cloak tighter around her and blew warmth into her hands. She didn’t know why the late snow or bitter cold surprised her; Emprise du Lion was known for it. Leliana looked back toward the mining village. Its structural bones once promising something “quaint,” or “darling,” but now it only seemed weary from abuses suffered during war. Even the faint flickering of some cooking fires made it look as if it were in its last gasp. In the distance, she could hear coughing from one of its slump-shouldered residents. Leliana sighed. A town over-run with Red Templars and a population enslaved. There always seemed to be someone who’s had it rougher than the last. 

Above her, she heard the flapping of wings followed by a series of quick clicks and clacks. “There you are,” she whispered. She had been hunkered down on the outskirts of Sahrnia, staying low and formulating a new plan since the original plan went belly-up. The raven had appeared not long into the evening, and when it didn’t fly off immediately, Leliana whistled softly. But the bird didn’t seem to recognize any of the Inquisition imprinting and Leliana could see no recognizable markings or tags (although it was quite hard to tell against the night sky). The bird persistently fluttered about only to fly a few meters away each time Leliana tried to near it. Curiosity piqued, she followed as it lead her further into the wood. She whistled again, holding out her arm as she would command an Inquisition raven. Again the bird did not obey, only mockingly tilting its head and making her feel foolish. “You are an absolute shit. Go on then; I will not dawdle with you further.” She watched the raven titter out of sight. “Ah. Finally, you listen,” she muttered, waving to the bird in amused resignation.

A strange sound caught her attention. “Blood and damnation,” she whispered, swiveling her head and trying to peer out into the darkness. “Come out,” she ordered quietly, pulling the daggers from her belt. 

A snap of a branch behind her caused her to spin abruptly, her daggers stopping only a hair’s breadth from her stalker’s throat. “I should have known,” Leliana said with a breathy chuckle. “You always were a **most** annoying hen.” 

Morrigan raised an imperious eyebrow, but Leliana did not lower her daggers. At this Morrigan smiled, placing a finger on each of the dagger’s blades, pushing them away from her throat. “Come along, Spymaster,” she instructed as she walked past Leliana. “Your flock awaits.” 

Sera heard them first; she tossed a stick into the pathetically small fire of which Cassandra insisted, and reached for her bow. “Oiy,” she muttered as a way of alerting her companions. Lavellan looked at the entrance of a rock alcove, apparently a rarely-used Red Jenny cache, now serving as their temporary hide-out. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Cassandra soundlessly unsheathing her sword.  


After a moment, the undergrowth concealing the entrance was rustled then moved aside, and Morrigan entered, the shadowed light of the campfire making her form appear impossibly slender. “Tis a good thing we are not brigands,” she mocked. “To go unnoticed before now.” 

“Well hello to you too,” Lavellan greeted the mage more jauntily than she felt. “Did you find her?” Her question was answered as Leliana stepped into the light of the campfire. She gave a single head nod aimed in Lavellan’s direction as she moved closer to the fire’s warmth; all of her extremities felt chilled to the bone. 

The absence of an acknowledgment in her direction did not go unnoticed by Cassandra. Sheathing her sword with a loud “shwanking” sound, she backed away from the fire to give the other women space.

Lavellan, on the other hand, stepped in, bumping her shoulder softly into Leliana’s. “It’s good to see you.” 

“Thank you, Inquisitor, likewise…all of you,” Leliana replied quietly, almost shyly, before returning her gaze to the fire. 

“Tis a regret to disturb such repose,” Morrigan remarked as she loosened her cloak.

Nonplussed, Lavellan shrugged. “A shame we heard your footfalls at all, isn’t it? A Spymaster and a ‘Witch of the Wilds,’ making such a racket? Tsk tsk.” 

Morrigan raised a brow at the Inquisitor’s use of the personage. “‘Witch of the Wilds,’ is it? Someone has been telling old tales so it would seem,” she stated, giving Sera a suspicious look. 

To her credit, Sera merely shrugged at the accusation. “Can you believe she’d never heard the story? The dark sorceress of the Korcari Wilds? Bloody amazin’ ain’t it? I left out the part where you supposedly eat children. Seemed a bit much.” 

It would appear Sera’s fear of the apostate was subsiding. Morrigan silently vowed to rectify that situation. “Indeed,” she answered. 

“Enough,” Cassandra growled, her patience already razor thin. “We can tell stories when we get back to Skyhold. I, for one, have had enough of Butler’s distractions.” 

“Yes,” Leliana said with a nod, acknowledging Cassandra with a quick look as she placed her bow gently on a rock. “It’s gone a bit awry.” 

Shortly after she had described what had happened, Cassandra was the first to speak. “And why did you not send for us sooner?” She had managed to avoid a grunt of disgust as she said it, but just barely. 

Leliana ignored her. She knew without a doubt that Cassandra would be…angry, but that was neither here nor there. She couldn’t help that fact now. She focused her attention on the Inquisitor. “I’ve tried to come up with different scenarios, but I fear this is the only way,” she explained. 

“Is this the plan?” Cassandra continued to be displeased. “Is this **even** a plan, at all?”

Leliana again did not show her annoyance at Cassandra’s annoyance. The Seeker was right, of course. This plan was hardly ideal, but they had very few options. Leliana cleared her throat. “Before Morrigan…collected me, I had again sought out Mistress Poulin.”

“Sahrnia’s patroness?” The Inquisitor asked.

“An Orlesian noble, is she not?” Morrigan asked. 

Leliana nodded to both questions. “I was quite angry, as you can imagine.”

“Is she still alive,” Morrigan asked, although she cared not about the woman’s fate. She was simply curious.

“Yes,” Leliana answered brusquely. “It took very little to loosen her tongue. The Mistress has no love for the Red Templars.” Leliana then relayed the sad story of Sahrnia and Poulin’s questionable actions when faced with her town’s demise. Poulin insisted that she had no idea who Butler was or of his connection to the Red Templars or the Inquisition. Granted Sahrnia gets very few visitors, and that was precisely whom she assumed him to be. Poulin only grew alarmed when he showed up at her door with two Red Templar guards demanding her compliancy - she was to round up several children. Horrified, she had refused. Then he told her that the Red Templars were ready to burn Sahrnia to the ground as the lyrium veins were beginning to dry. He could convince them otherwise, and besides, he assured, the children would not be harmed. All were lies, but she had been so desperate for so long, Poulin could no longer discern between fact and fiction. To her credit, she refused once again. It wasn’t until Butler killed her only servant, a long-loyal elven man she had brought with her from Orlais, and threatened to harm more that Poulin acquiesced. Shame had covered Poulin as she conveyed the story. Leliana had little trouble empathizing with her. The world, as it is now, brings only horrible choices.

“She told me that Butler forced her into setting the trap,” Leliana said. “Using the children to force compliance with the townspeople and to make it harder for all to…resist. She said that Red Templars were taking no chances, already sending in reinforcements to surround the town. Charter and I knew about the Templars, but we did not anticipate the kidnapping of the children. Despicable.” 

Cassandra cursed under her breath, vowing to end Butler. 

“Charter and I had quickly devised a plan,” Leliana continued. “I would allow myself to get captured and Charter would wait for you and rescue the children.”

“You would stall Butler,” Lavellan guessed, “and then we’d help you make your escape?”

“No,” Cassandra said before Leliana could shake her head. “She only needed us to ensure the safety of the children…the villagers. We were to help liberate the town, hamper the Templars supply of Red Lyrium. But she was going to allow herself to be brought to the Templars.”

“Of course,” Leliana said, unsurprised the Cassandra would be able to surmise the plan. “Charter would have been able to track my captors.” 

“And all that for what? To find some Templar camp?” Cassandra scoffed as she threw another log into the fire, stepping back as embers shot angrily toward the roof of the alcove. 

“An opportunity,” Leliana answered. “Do you honestly think they were going to simply bring me back to some Templar outpost?” She pulled out a small roll of parchment and tossed it at Cassandra, who caught it before it fell in the fire. “Charter and I intercepted that several days ago.” 

Cassandra unrolled the parchment and quickly read its contents. 

Lavellan nodded toward the parchment Cassandra was reading. “What does it say?”

“The Venatori,” Cassandra answered grimly. “Butler offered up our Spymaster in exchange for…” she sneered in disgust. “He wants to be Corypheus’ Spymaster.” 

“All this for a professional rivalry?” Morrigan scoffed. “I thought perhaps a lover spurned.” 

“Plausible,” Cassandra muttered.

“And so how is it that you’re here and Charter is there?” Lavellan asked.

“That is a good question, and one I cannot answer,” Leliana replied. 

“Wow. Okay,” Sera offered as she chewed a fingernail. “So now you’re proposin’ an exchange, but what makes you think ol’ Buttly won’t kill you outright?” 

“Because he wants to gloat. He wants to show me off, like some trophy,” Leliana said as she placed her palms to her eyes. “Like it or not, I was, or am, quite the bounty – as is the Inquisitor, Cassandra, Josephine…all the advisors or anyone perceived to be an integral part of the Inquisition. And Butler, I always thought he should have been Orlesian – so enamored with the game. I always figured I would be able to…,”Leliana shrugged her shoulders. “What does it matter now? For whatever reason, he desires to best me. I sought to turn it to our advantage.”

“Like any good bard would,” Morrigan said. “Double-crossing is second nature, is it not?”

“Indeed,” Cassandra said dryly, turning her back to the group. 

“We must do anything possible to cripple the Red Templars and the Venatori!” Leliana began to pace. “Besides their connection to Coryphaeus, they are also capable of great evil on their own.”

“Yes, we know, Leliana,” Cassandra countered. “But this risk is too great for one hornet’s nest.”

“A very big nest, Cassandra, which could lead us to another and then another,” Leliana argued. 

Cassandra shook her head. “No! We are not here to indulge a Spymaster’s folly!”

Leliana looked taken aback, as well as the others. “Is that what you think?” 

“How would I know, Leliana?” Cassandra asked, the anger draining from her voice as her shoulders sagged.

“Enough,” Lavellan gently interjected, shaking her head as if it were all too much to think about. “We all want this end…everything. Just give me a moment.” For a while she silently stood, resting her head in one of her hands. Finally, she let out a low breath and crossed her arms. Internally, she agreed with Cassandra. Leliana’s plan was reckless and overreaching. Voicing that now, probably would not be the best for morale. A softer approach seemed the best course of action. “So the plan now, essentially the same? We save the children, liberate Sahrnia? All of it, except for the part where you trot off with your captors.”

“Inquisitor –” Leliana began but was cut off by the shake of Lavellan’s head. 

“Not up for discussion, Spymaster. You are too valuable to the Inquisition…and I,” she looked to Cassandra, “we, would not risk it.” 

“I think it tis an adequate plan,” Morrigan said, causing Leliana raise a brow. The previous comment about ‘good bard,’ that was more like a barb, wrapped in approval. This comment was seemingly more genuine. Cassandra apparently felt differently, as displayed by the look on her face.

“Calm yourself, Cassandra. Please,” Leliana urged with a sigh. 

Cassandra glared at the Spymaster. “Perhaps you have something in your bag to accomplish such a feat?”

It was horribly unsubtle, but Cassandra was not the subtle type. Leliana looked away. 

“It is not ideal, of course,” Morrigan continued. “But Sister Leliana is quite capable and if saving the children is non-negotiable then we have few option, do we not?” Morrigan asked.

“It is not,” Cassandra looked crossly at the mage.

“Ah, I see. Can you come up with a better plan, Seeker?”

“Funny you should ask,” Cassandra answered. 

“Go on then,” Leliana said, arms crossed expectantly. “Let’s hear it.”

“Look what I found.” They all looked at the entrance, where Sera had announced her perfectly timed interjection, cheeks rosy from the cold, thumbing over her shoulder. Lavellan frowned, wondering when Sera had slipped out. Then she supposed that was precisely what made Sera such an underestimated rogue – she had the ability to disappear and make you forget how talented she really was. But she had no time to contemplate this further as Varric’s voice filled the cavern, huffing something about being late to the party. Behind him, Dorian strolled in giving the Inquisitor a wink and a hug. Dorian rolled his cape from his shoulders in a terribly theatrical display, then cast his eyes toward Leliana. “Lady Nightingale. Enchanting as ever.” 

Leliana sniffed but gave him a slight smile.

“Damn, it’s colder than a witch’s tit out here,” Varric remarked with a grin until he noticed Morrigan. “No offense,” he quickly muttered, slapping his arms to warm himself. “Don’t turn me into a frog, okay?”

“More like a ferret with that chest hair,” Morrigan regarded him drolly. 

“Touché,” Varric mumbled. 

“Not that I’m complaining,” Lavellan spoke, “but what are you guys doing here?”  


“That one,” Dorian answered, pointing at Cassandra, “summoned us with some urgency, I might add. The substitute Spymaster was actually out of breath once he found us.…going on about the Seeker, Sister Leliana and his ass in a sling. Charming fellow.” 

“Apologies, Seeker,” Varric interjected. Me and Sparkles were the only ones at Skyhold. Tiny’s out with the Chargers, Chuckles is off brooding, and Vivienne is…I don’t know where she is, actually. ” 

“Regardless, it was excellent thinking,” Lavellan smiled. “Sorry I didn’t think of it myself. Novel idea, asking for help.”

“Yes. Quite,” Cassandra replied. 

“Directions could have been better,” Varric interjected. “Take a right at the tree with a forked top is really not that helpful.” 

Sera sniggered. That was her doing and also not her problem; Red Jennies never seemed to have a hitch finding this cache.

“So,” Cassandra began as she again neared the fire. “Let us reconsider our plan.” 

After more discussion, Lavellan stood once again with her arms crossed and her eyes steadily on the fire. “So…you are going to be with Leliana-”

“And I’m going with the Inquisitor?” Sera finished the thought for her. The Seeker’s words still echoing in her head, ‘She is not to leave your sight, Sera. Do you **understand**?’ Oh yes, Sera understood perfectly. If anyone were going to **potentially** die, it would have to be Sera. It made her stomach roil. Simple solution: arrows to the baddies first and nobody dies. Done. 

“Yes. Why is that so perplexing?” Cassandra asked. She looked around the fire, and everyone had the same surprised look on their face. 

Lavellan shook her head. “No reason,” she answered, but in her head, she thought that Cassandra had not let her out of her sight on a mission in like…never. Not that she was complaining now. It was just unexpected. She looked over at Leliana who was uncharacteristically worrying her lower lip. Well, maybe it wasn’t so unexpected at all. 

Leliana sighed. “Cassandra -”

“You need back up,” Cassandra huffed. “Morrigan will be…” She waved her hand finding it difficult to describe what Morrigan would be doing. 

“Shapeshifting into a Raven, Seeker,” Morrigan chuckled. “For someone who has tempered so much magic you act as if it still surprises you. Tis a wonder, it is.” 

Cassandra frowned but continued. “Working her way between the two other groups, she won’t be able to provide constant monitoring if your situation turns sour,” she concluded. 

“Cassandra,” Leliana began again, in a tone that inferred someone was ridiculous. But before she could Cassandra shook her head and stomped out of the alcove. Apparently, nothing further need be said.

Morrigan laughed lightly. “She is most interesting.” 

Varric leaned toward Lavellan, and in sotto voce, he said, “You’ve been usurped, Inquisitor.”

“Finally,” Lavellan replied with a laugh. 

Leliana cleared her throat. “We’ll have to move at dawn. I was able to stall the Red Templars, but not for long, only a day or two.” As the others filtered away from the fire to ready themselves, Lavellan sidled closer to her Spymaster. 

“I know, Inquisitor,” Leliana quietly offered before Lavellan had a chance to speak. She looked around to make sure everyone was duly occupied. “We will talk of this once we have Charter and –”

“We’ve talked enough. Don’t you think?” Lavellan interrupted, keeping her voice equally quiet. “I believe our brooding, confused Seeker went that way.” She tilted her head toward the entrance.  


“You gave her my letter?”

“Yes. She burned it immediately.”

Leliana looked at her in surprise. “Did she ask about…?”

“What do you think?”

“Then perhaps nothing more need be said.”

“Is that so?” Lavellan asked with a chuckle. Then she patted Leliana gently on the shoulder and left her to stare into the fire.

Later, in the center of Sahrnia, the light was just beginning to show between the slat walls of the dilapidated cabin – dawn. Rolling her head from side to side, Charter tried to relieve the stiffness in her neck. Sitting on a hard chair with your hands tied behind your back for several hours was very uncomfortable. And by uncomfortable, she meant excruciating. She lifted her shoulders only to muffle a gasp of pain. If Leliana didn’t hurry the fuck up, Charter would have to figure out a way to take matters into her own hands. And, if she were honest, her options were limited. Twisting her wrists around, Charter tested her bonds once again. Finally, she had managed to loosen them. Butler was always a bit shitty when it came to knots. 

“Hey,” she said to one of the two brutes who were tasked with guard duty. When one of them acknowledged her, she smiled. “Could you give me a break here? I can’t feel my hands.” She pursed her lips together tightly when he ignored her. “Really?” She tried again. “I have no weapons, I’m just a bloody elf, right. Like half your size,” she looked at the other henchman, who just sneered at her and pulled his furs about him. ‘Okay,’ she thought to herself. Acting sufficiently desperate and helpless didn’t seem to work. In the corner, the sleeping children began to stir. One of them snuck a peek at the guard then to Charter, who then gave the girl a wink in response. The child smiled through watery eyes and tried to snuggle closer to the boy next to her. It was cold, and one threadbare blanket between them provided little warmth. 

Charter looked back over that the guards who were bundled up quite nicely. “Hey dickheads,” Charter growled. “Those kids are freezing. Give them one of your blankets.” 

“Shut your mouth,” one of the henchmen (the one slightly smaller) growled. “Those rugrats are used to it.”

Eyeing him dismissively, Charter purposely focused her attention on the other guard. “You look like the slightly less dumb one – letting those kids freeze to death probably isn’t a good play.” 

The smaller one rose from his chair. “I said shut it, or I’ll shut if for you.”

Leaning back in her chair, Charter cocked her head to the side, studying the smaller henchman. Sizing him up, with a sluggish sweep of her eyes, she then gave him a close-lipped mocking smile. “Sure, sure,” Charter taunted. 

“Watch it, or I’ll wipe that smile right off your face, girlie.”

Slyly, Charter tested her bonds again. Yes. Loose enough, she could manage something, but he’d have to get close. She should probably wait for Leliana, but she was impatient, and she might not get another chance. If she could quickly manage one, she could improvise with the other. “You’re a real tough guy. C’mon then, come do your worst,” she goaded, jutting her chin forward for effect. She heard a small hiccup, or perhaps a gasp of worry, which gave her pause. She looked over at the three children, all of whom were awake. “It’s going to be all right. You all close your eyes,” she ordered gently. She had to try something. “Don’t you open them until I say.”

The henchman took two steps toward the captured elf but was stopped suddenly by the other one, who had quickly grabbed him by the arm. “She’s small, but remember what Butler said.”

Trying to pull his arm out of the other’s grasp, the henchman barked in frustration. “Get your blighted hands off me! She don’t look so dangerous now.”

“Look, dumbass,” the other henchman (who Charter was now referring to as the ‘smarter henchman’ in her head) replied. “It’s all easy to be brave when they’re tied up, eh? Butler said that elf there knows fifty ways to kill a man. And you’re just some farmer who got bored and decided to play mercenary.”

The smaller guard looked as if he were about to argue, so the other one led him to the door. “I ain’t too keen on you starting something. I aim to get paid not get dead. You wanna puff up your chest against some Inquisition assassin, tied-up or not, do it while I’m not around. Now, go get some air,” he said intending to throw him out of the cabin. 

“Going somewhere?” Butler asked, looking at his two hired guards who were just stumbling out of the cabin. He shook his head as the two guards stammered. Shouldering his way past them, Butler hurried into the cabin to see if his captive was still present, the two henchmen on his heels. Relieved when he saw Charter still secured to the chair, he rounded on his henchmen. “Get in here and shut the door!” 

“Quite the brain trust you have there,” Charter snickered from behind him. “Or are they the only ones that would work for a duplicitous asshat?”

Butler ignored the comments. She was right, of course, about them being idiots – and maybe she was right about the other. Good help did seem hard to find. “Sleep well?” He asked.

“Never better,” Charter lied. Out of the corner of her eye, she swore she saw a shadow move between the slats of the cabin wall. ‘About damn time,’ she thought to herself. Butler did not seem to notice. Charter smiled. “And you?”

“Like a babe,” Butler said, nodding toward the huddled children.

Charter pursed her lips, trying not show that Butler’s comment got to her, but failing. She was really going to love taking him down. 

Cassandra and Leliana met each other at the back of the cabin, each having done their part to clear the perimeter. Leliana had scouted the area after Charter’s abduction. She was sure of Charter’s location, not the Butler had made it difficult. Sahrnia was not a big town, and the whole point of this was to draw Leliana into a trap. Well-hidden but with a decent view of the cabin, they had waited for Butler to arrive. They hunched behind trees and avoided prolonged eye-contact. Every so often, Morrigan would appear behind them, giving them updates on how the other groups were doing. Thankfully, everything seemed to be going to plan: the Inquisitor and Sera working around one side of the town, taking out Templars, freeing parents and liberating children; Varric and Dorian working the other side – all this being done as quietly and quickly as possible. The misinformation that Leliana had been planting over the last few weeks had done just enough to make Butler complacent. Leliana had played the “wounded bird,” and Butler was too ready with the cage. His indulgence of ego was always going to be his downfall. However, Leliana never imagined that it would make him a traitor. One more mistake for which she’d need to atone. 

Cautiously, Leliana peered through a gap in the walls. She could just make out Charter and across from her Butler, who stood casually against the door. She looked over at Cassandra who was peering through a different gap. Turning her head toward Leliana, Cassandra held up two fingers and mouthed the word “guards.” Leliana mouthed “children?” Cassandra nodded, the scar on her face somehow more pronounced. 

Inside, Butler remained against the door, folding his arms ever so smugly. “Tell me, Charter, when shall we expect your Spymaster?” 

“She was your Spymaster too, Butler. ”

Butler shrugged nonchalantly. “Not anymore.”

“What happened to you?” Charter wanted to know. Of course, she had worked with Butler, considered him a...no, saying ‘friend’ would have been disingenuous. But Leliana recruited him personally, and that had been enough to garner Charter’s trust. 

“Nothing,” Butler said, pulling out a dagger to twirl it on the palm of his hand. “Open your eyes, Charter. The world is going to change – you can either be on the winning side or the losing side.”

“You think Corypheus is going to win?”

“You don’t?” Butler scoffed. “C’mon. Let’s not pretend. You wanna go down with a sinking ship for some misbegotten loyalty that’s up to you. I’m going with the guy who ripped a hole in the sky.” 

“Slimy.”

“Smart,” Butler countered as he tapped his head.

“What makes you think, she’s coming?” Charter asked. 

Butler scoffed, returning his dagger to his belt. “She’s coming.” Butler knew that even though the years had put a hard veneer of stoic ruthlessness on the Nightingale, she, like everyone else, had weaknesses. He looked over at the children. Regrettably, he had to resort to exploiting her need to help those she perceived as vulnerable. And she had another weakness – one that she took great care to keep hidden. Lazily, he circled Charter. “At the moment, you seemed to be her favored pet.”

“Please tell me this isn’t about jealousy.”

“Nah,” he chuckled. “Straight-up greed and hedging bets. That’s all it is. Tell me though, honestly, why are you in this? The infamous Black Hart, come to do the Inquisition’s bidding – or is the Nightingale really that good?” Butler leered suggestively. “I’m impressed that you went for it, I mean, the Sister is a bit of a lost cause. How can anyone compete with the Hero of Ferelden? We’ve all heard this story: a young Sister Leliana by the Grey Warden’s side, triumph and tragedy and blah, blah, blah. A tired tale told by minstrels in every dingy tavern in Thedas. Poor Leliana. Lost her one true love and now she’s locked up tighter than a –” 

“Fuck you, Butler,” Charter interrupted. “You really do love the sound of your own voice.”

“I do, don’t I?” 

“Coward,” Charter spat. 

“Are you even trying to get under my skin?” Butler asked as he threw up his hands. “Aren’t you second-in-command, or whatever, of all the agents? We are spies, Charter! We are cowards by profession. Sneaky, sneaky, stab, stab, quiet as a mouse. Does that reek of bravery? Get over yourself and this do-gooder garbage. It’s over. All the Inquisition is doing is delaying the inevitable, and I prefer a headstart.”

Outside the cabin, the conversation inside was barely muted by the boards. Cassandra watched, the hilt of her sword held tightly in her fist, as Leliana reacted to Butler’s confession. Cassandra was unsure if Leliana were angry, disappointed or embarrassed. Still, Leliana would not meet Cassandra’s eyes. Behind them, they heard the flapping of wings then the faint rustle of fabric. In an instant, Morrigan appeared to whisper in Cassandra’s ear, “Tis done.”

Cassandra looked over at Leliana whose eyes were mere slits upon Morrigan. Bemused, Cassandra tilted her head toward the door. Leliana nodded. Cassandra crept forward, listening to make sure Butler was still distracted. Once near the door, and after a final look at the two women, Cassandra readied herself with a deep breath; then she lowered her shoulder. 

Inside the cabin, Butler’s pontificating was interrupted by a gurgling noise from the guard closest to the children. After a moment’s confusion, realization dawned on Butler’s face, and he swung his gaze back at Charter who wriggled her brow suggestively. 

The door hit Butler squarely in the back, propelling him forward. Charter, wasting no time as Butler stumbled toward her, leaned forward and made sure her head connected with his nose. Cassandra smashed into the cabin, followed closely by Leliana who planted a dagger into the shoulder of the other henchman and, just for good measure, sunk another into his thigh. He slipped to the floor, grimacing in pain, his hands up to indicate he would fight no further.

Cassandra continued over to Butler, who was now lying on his back, his hand covering his bloodied nose. She placed her booted foot, high upon his chest, and close enough to threaten his windpipe. “Knock knock,” she growled. Butler tried to push her foot away to no avail. Each groveling breath was met with a sound of disgust and more pressure from the Seeker. 

Leliana glanced over on her way to help Charter, thinking how much she appreciated Cassandra’s anger when wasn't directed at her. 

Rubbing her wrists as they were finally free, Charter smiled thankfully at Leliana who returned it in kind. Then the Spymaster’s eyes took on a harder glint. “You’ve been making a habit of contravening my wishes. We shall talk of this later,” she warned. 

“How about if I just act really remorseful for the next several days and we’ll call it good?” Charter asked with a quirk of a brow.

“You wish,” Leliana replied. “Are you hurt?” Charter shook her head. “Good,” Leliana said. Behind her, she heard a slight scuffle. Turning her head, she saw Cassandra now had Butler off his feet and pinned against a wall, a gloved hand around his neck and her other hand resting on the hilt of her sword in a very menacing fashion. 

“Pull your dog off of me, Nightingale,” Butler managed to ground out. 

Leliana shook her head in wonderment not only at the ease of which Cassandra held the man but at Butler’s gall in the face of Cassandra’s wrath. With a sigh, she walked over and placed a hand upon Cassandra’s shoulder. The Seeker flinched slightly, and Leliana pulled her hand back. “Put him in that chair.” 

Butler grunted as Cassandra dumped him on the hard wooden chair, which Charter had hurridly vacated. Charter grabbed at her discarded bindings but then Morrigan gave her a fleeting touch on the arm. “Allow me.” Then she cast a paralysis spell on Butler. He was unable to move from the neck down. 

“Tis not a long-lasting spell,” Morrigan informed them. “Unlike that one,” she pointed at the henchman who was on the floor in a heap.

Leliana frowned. “Is he dead?”

“Not yet.” 

Cassandra looked at the two women who seemed to be having an impromptu stare-off, than at the unconscious henchman. “What spell did you cast?”

“Release him,” Leliana ordered.

“Why?” Morrigan asked. “Was he important? Tis one less child killer not for the better?” 

“Morrigan,” Cassandra warned. “We are the Inquisition. Not murderers.” 

“That’s laughable," Butler sneered. “I think I’ve bloodied my hand's plenty for your precious Inquisition.” 

“Stop talking,” Cassandra warned. 

“Hm,” Morrigan scoffed, before releasing the henchman from her spell. Charter was quickly over him, ready to subdue him when he came to. “Do not bother yourself,” Morrigan said. “He will be of no consequence for some time.” 

“Quite a stable you’ve assembled, Nightingale,” Butler chuckled. “An apostate who whored herself to Empress Celene? What a jewel for your crown of misfits.”

Leliana caught Morrigan’s arm before she slapped Butler, or worse. “Don’t be bothered, Morrigan,” she urged sedately. “His insults mean little.”

Butler continued to laugh. “But the best bit is the so-called ‘Architect’ of the Inquisition: the frothing-at-the-mouth righteous Seeker. Seen you around, Seeker. Heard all of the stories, of course. Now I get to witness it firsthand.” He shifted his gaze to Leliana. “Do you find that appealing Sister Nightingale?” He then looked at Charter. “I thought she was your – omph!”

With her foot, Cassandra had upended the chair, causing Butler to fall back and onto his head. He landed with a massive thud.

“Owww,” he yowled. 

“I said, shut your mouth,” Cassandra growled. 

It was then that the Inquisitor and the rest of the inner circle burst into the small cabin. Upon seeing Butler’s position, the Inquisitor chuckled. “That looks seriously uncomfortable.” Then she noticed the little children huddled in the corner. She looked beseechingly at Varric.

Varric had followed her gaze. With a heavy sigh, he acquiesced to the silent request. “Come along, kids,” Varric urged gently. “Let’s get you home.” Lavellan gave him a thankful nod. “Sure, sure,” Varric mumbled. “I have a long history of babysitting.” He looked back over to the kids who did not seem at all inclined to follow him. 

Dorian walked past him toward the little girl who had first ventured to sneak a peek at Charter. He put his staff on the floor, then slowly knelt down to greet her. “Hello, sweetie. I’d bet that you’ve been really scared.” She nodded. He then looked at the two little boys. “Lads. You too, I suspect.” They also nodded. “I would have been too.” He pointed over his shoulder at Varric. “I know he’s a bit peculiar looking, but he’s really nice,” he whispered conspiratorially. They giggled. “Do you want us to take you to your parents? We helped some of your friends earlier. Would you like to see them?” They all nodded. “Come along,” he said soothingly. “I bet they all miss you very much.” And as he stood up, all the kids followed.

Lavellan placed a hand on his arm and squeezed. Dorian winked at her as he ushered the kids out of the cabin. 

“Huh,” Varric said rubbing the back of his neck as he followed. 

“How touching,” Butler groaned from his back. 

“Is this guy having us on?” Sera carped. "This is the pile of rubbish that’s been messin’ with Leliana? Can’t I just put some arrows in him and be done with it?” 

Lavellan stood over him, hand on her hips. “Yeah, this guy. I would like nothing better, Sera. But I wouldn’t want to deny him is very special cell back at Skyhold.”

“You think your Spymaster and that rabid Seeker will let me get that far?” Butler whined.

Leliana rolled her eyes. “Enough of the dramatics. There will be an interrogation first.” 

“You can rot in the void,” Butler spat. “I’m not telling you a damned thing, **Sister**.” 

Leliana moved into Butler’s field of view. “You will talk.” 

“Fuck off,” he huffed.

Cassandra took a hard step in his direction only to be stopped by Leliana’s hand on her chest. 

Leliana’s eyes never left Butler’s. “He will talk.” 

Butler set his jaw and returned Leliana’s glare. He lasted a long moment before his chest deflated with a breathy, but decidedly resigned, laugh. “I could never out-bluff you. You’re right. No one will be mounting a rescue for me. And…” he twisted his head so he could see the Inquisitor. “Your Spymaster has a certain penchant for getting people to talk. Coupled with that one,” he threw his head in Cassandra’s general direction, “I’m not especially keen on pain.” 

“Only for inflicting it?” Lavellan asked.

“Hypocrites,” Butler replied with a roll of his eyes before settling his gaze on Leliana. “I almost got the better of you, Nightingale. No offense, but you know how it is.”

“Mm,” Leliana answered, finally removing her hand from Cassandra’s chest. 

“I suppose I am at your mercy. Such as it is. Enjoy it while you can because he’s awfully curious about you,” he chirped, an odd warning to it. 

Leliana lifted an eyebrow as she knelt, arms casually resting on knees as she scrutinized Butler closely. “Who’s curious?” Leliana asked. 

Butler pursed his lips and lifted his head in frustration. “Maker’s breath, let me sit up!”

Leliana looked up at Cassandra, who reluctantly righted Butler. “Explain and be quick about it, we don’t have much time,” she demanded roughly. 

“Redcliff. I told them about Redcliff.” 

“Tis little consequence,” Morrigan scoffed. “By ‘them’ I’m assuming he means the Venatori. They would already know that Alexius had been captured, would they not?”

Cassandra narrowed her eyes. No. Butler was telling them something different. She gripped Butler’s chin, forcing him to look at her. “And what do you know of Redcliff?” 

Butler sneered and twisted his head, so Cassandra had to release her grip. “It’s amazing what people will tell an ‘agent of the Inquisition.’ All I had to do was show off my extra special signet ring,” he said, referring to the ring showing the Inquisition seal. With little prompting, Butler proceeded to tell them how after months of feeding the Venatori information, he was (after a series of particularly paranoid communiqués) summoned to Redcliff Castle. Apparently, Gereon Alexius had a ‘special’ assignment for him. Butler winked at Leliana. “Luckily, I heard the Inquisitor was riding for Redcliff, so I took my time.” 

When Butler finally arrived at Redcliff, he found that Alexius, the Venatori, the Inquisition, were all gone. The castle was basically deserted save for a few Fereldan soldiers awaiting the arrival of Arl Teagan who was on his way back to his newly liberated estate. Butler, careful to avoid detection, sniffed around for information. “It wasn’t easy,” Butler admitted. “But you know how it is, Nightingale. Persistence pays off,” Butler smirked. “It’s amazing the little tidbits people will pick up. I mean, insignificant scraps. Shit people barely think about, but given the right context, worth their weight in gold.”

“Yeah you’re a friggin’ genius all right,” Sera grumbled in the background. 

“Go on,” Cassandra urged after a quick glance cast at Sera.

Butler looked as if he were going to argue, but a menacing squeeze of Cassandra’s gloved hand on the back of his neck got his mouth moving again. He told them that Gereon’s son, Felix, had a personal servant – a little slip of a man – who had traveled with Felix to Redcliff. Felix, before he returned to Tevinter, allowed his servant to stay behind, as a free man. “A final act of kindness,” Butler said. “And he was free…for a while. Poor Elias. That was his name. He was the one so impressed by my ring. Was willing to do anything for the Inquisition. Figured they were the ones that helped him become a free man. Silly chap.” 

“You’re a real bastard,” Lavellan said.

Butler shrugged feeling little remorse as he continued his account. The evening before Felix returned to Tevinter, Elias had overheard Felix and that ex-Tevinter mage, Dorian, speaking. He was in the antechamber, and they didn’t know he was there, and he didn’t want to disturb them so remained quiet. “Good little lad,” Butler said with a chuckle. “He said that Felix and Dorian spoke of time spells and horrid experiments – something about blight sickness and great concern over the Inquisition’s Spymaster who had abruptly taken ill.” Butler looked at Leliana whose fists were clenched at her sides. He smiled. “You may want to tell Dorian that his friend never made it back to Tevinter.” 

Lavellan moved to stand in front of Butler, anger curling at her fingers. She would be damned if this man didn’t go unpunished. But she was swiftly bumped aside as Cassandra moved in. With a growl the Seeker fisted Butler’s collar, pulling him out of the chair to pin him, once again, against the wall. His paralyzed body hung limply. “Who is curious about Leliana?” She growled, low and deadly.

“Andraste’s tits, what are they feeding you?” Butler's brave face faltered and his taunt came out as a high-pitched whine. When Cassandra slapped him, he saw stars. He heard the Inquisitor’s slight gasp, but nothing more came from her. ‘Hyprocites,’ he thought again, shaking his head to stop his ears from ringing.

“I am tired of your mouth and your games. Who!” Cassandra yelled.

“Samson! Maker’s breath, I thought that was obvious.” 

Unsurprised by the answer, but still hoping for something different, Cassandra let slip a familiar sound of disgust. Then she released Butler, allowing him to fall to the floor unceremoniously. She glanced at Leliana, whose eyes were downcast. 

“Well that’s one way to handle a situation,” Lavellan remarked at a crumpled Butler. “So Samson and therefore Corypheus. Aren’t we just the most popular kids?” She tried to give Leliana a reassuring smile, but Leliana had turned her back to the group, her posture tight and uncomfortable looking.

Sera mumbled something about having plenty of arrows, and if it were up to Cassandra, she would have surely let Sera have her way. “I think we should leave for Skyhold, immediately,” Cassandra announced suddenly. She couldn’t deny the urge to get Leliana behind a fortified wall. “Samson would have surely sent another dispatch of Templars. They may get here before we can secure the town. We can find out the rest of what Butler knows when we get him to Skyhold.”

"Yes. Skitter away you rats,“ Butler groaned from the floor.

“Do shut up,” Lavellan groaned with a roll of her eyes. He really had no idea when to quit. 

“I’ll send word to Rector, he’ll tell Cullen –,” Leliana began but was stopped by the shake of Cassandra’s head. 

“It’s already done.”

Leliana raised a brow. “Perhaps the position of Inquisition Spymaster is not so hard to fill, after all?” It was supposed to be a light-hearted witticism, something to break the tension of the room, but it came out sounding pathetic. A sentiment that apparently Cassandra shared, as her only response was to clench her jaw and shrug. 

Charter stepped up to place a hand on Leliana’s arm. “Order’s Nightingale?” She asked quietly. 

Leliana took a deep breath. Bless the Maker for Charter. “Inquisitor?” Leliana hated that she sounded so unsure.

Lavellan looked at her, eyebrows furrowing then releasing. “Whatever you think is best, Spymaster,” she said confidently. 

Leliana nodded. “You are unhurt?” She asked Charter once again, but this time she wanted the truth. 

“Nothing but a scratch.” 

Leliana gave her a firm nod. “Keep an eye on our backs.” 

“Tis something that I may be particularly useful at, as well?” Morrigan asked in that bored tone of hers. She looked over at Cassandra for confirmation, which she received with a single nod. “Very well. I shall be fluttering about.”

“Morrigan can shapeshift,” Leliana said for Charter’s benefit. 

“Ah. Right,” Charter said replacing the look of confusion on her face with wariness. “I suppose that makes scouting a whole lot easier.”

“Indeed,” Morrigan replied haughtily as if it were painfully obvious. “If all is well, you shan’t see me until you’ve reached Skyhold. Do not mourn my absence, Seeker,” she whispered cheekily to Cassandra as she left the cabin. 

Cassandra said nothing, choosing to focus on the annoyed look that crossed Leliana’s face. 

Sera rolled her eyes mightily, sharing a look with the Inquisitor before Lavellan shook her head in warning. The message to Sera was clear: now was not the time. 

“Right,” the Inquisitor said with a clap of her hands. “Let’s not tarry then. I need to settle things with Mistress Poulin and gather Dorian and Varric. Get him ready to travel,” she pointed at Butler. “And gag him. I’ve heard enough of his tripe for one day.”

By late afternoon they were several miles away from Sahrnia, scattered along a road, riding with pace but not pushing the horses too hard. At the front, Cassandra raised a hand signaling that they all should stop. Leliana began to move to the front to see what the issue was. As she rode by Dorian and Varric, she checked to see that Butler was still well secured. Varric shifted in his saddle a little and looked behind him. Butler sat astride a tethered mare, his hands and feet secured to the horse itself. To Butler’s right, Dorian sat astride his horse, Bambi. When he had heard Dorian first coo the name to the horse, Varric had almost laughed. But who was he to judge? He named his crossbow, Bianca. 

Before Leliana made it to Cassandra, the Seeker had turned her horse and was galloping toward her. Sera, who had been scouting ahead, was now sitting behind her, leaning awkwardly to the side to avoid getting jabbed by Cassandra’s shield. “Inquisition colors,” Sera announced, with a smile. 

“Our soldiers made good time. A full platoon by the looks of it,” Cassandra said with a faint smile of her own. It had been a while since Leliana had seen a smile, slight as it was, grace Cassandra’s face and she found that it was contagious. 

It was dusk by the time they had secured Butler in a prison carriage. Lavellan blew the traitor a kiss as the carriage began to make its way back to Skyhold. It would be a bumpy and uncomfortable ride for him, which made Lavellan extremely happy. She tilted her head to side-eye Cassandra. “I’m pretty sure I hate that guy.”

Cassandra snorted. She was glad that Leliana had suggested that they send him on to Skyhold. With plenty of troops to act as security, it relieved them of some of the stress. She looked behind her and frowned.

“It’s okay,” Lavellan said, speculating on what had the Seeker looking so sour. “We need the rest. Most of us haven’t gotten a lot of sleep in the past couple of days. We’ll make Skyhold by tomorrow.” She looked past Cassandra to see the rest of the crew making camp. 

“We should have kept more soldiers with us,” Cassandra groused. 

Lavellan sighed, tired of this conversation. “We need them to help secure Sahrnia. Besides, Rector sent a full contingent of agents. They’re with us now,” Lavellan said as she looked out into the snowy tree line. “Out there, checking the perimeter and doing all the sneaky things Leliana ordered them too. They’re her people. They’ll keep her safe.”

“I’ll keep her safe,” Cassandra affirmed.

Leliana placed a hand on Cassandra’s arm. “ **We** will keep her safe. Although, let's not forget that Leliana is quite capable of ensuring her own safety.”

“I haven’t.” Cassandra gave Lavellan a small but thankful smile, but just as suddenly as it appeared, it was gone, replaced with a look of grim determination. “If anything happens to her…”

There was no need for Cassandra to finish the sentence. The Inquisitor understood implicitly. “No doubt about that,” Lavellan replied with a chuckle. “But how about in the meantime, you go and talk with her.” 

“She doesn’t want to talk to me.”

Lavellan gave Cassandra a look. “I don’t think that’s true, and neither do you.”

It was entirely dark by the time everyone had settled into camp. Cassandra threw her pack into her tent and let her eyes roam over their encampment. Someone had already started a fire, and most of the Inquisitor’s circle had gathered. Varric stood, arms crossed, shuffling his feet, trying to keep them warm; Dorian stood next to him, leaning heavily on his staff and Sera sat across from them, chucking pine cones into the flames. The Inquisitor was there, looking as relaxed as ever, sitting lazily on a log with a plate of food on her lap. From where Cassandra stood, she could just hear a smattering of words, followed by a gesture or two. It was just enough for Cassandra to get the gist of the conversations. Laughter wafted from the group – Cassandra could tell that the Inquisitor had said something particularly witty. 

Out of her periphery, Cassandra saw Leliana emerge from her small tent. In an instant, she was beset by an agent, who seemingly appeared from nowhere. Leliana listened, nodded her head, and then, Cassandra imagined, issued some sort of command. The whole exchange took but a moment. The agent had disappeared back into the night. Cassandra had not bothered to turn away from the scene. In fact, she had watched it so intently that Leliana took notice. They locked eyes for a moment, then slowly Leliana turned away and walked into a nearby copse of trees. 

A waning moon meant that it wasn’t nearly bright as the evening before, but there still wasn’t enough darkness to hide behind. Cassandra was glad for it when Leliana looked at her. “Already a small victory,” she said, her voice sounding harsh to her own ears. Leliana tilted her head, confused by the comment. “I know you had plenty of time to make your escape, yet you’re still here,” Cassandra elaborated. 

Leliana shrugged. “I am too tired to try and avoid you,” she confessed.

“Are you annoyed?” Cassandra asked incredulously. “With me?”

Leliana had been leaning against a large pine tree. She let her head fall back against it and closed her eyes. She almost looked relaxed. Cassandra leaned a shoulder against the same tree, clasping her hands in front of her. “I did not come seeking apologies, but perhaps a small bit of contrition would be appropriate?” 

“You were drunk." Leliana knew her defense was marginal.

“I would have sobered. What you did, it wasn’t fair.” Cassandra sounded disappointed rather than angry.

Leliana opened her eyes and sighed. She turned her head indulging the opportunity to look at the Seeker. For a long moment, she said nothing. Cassandra did not try to fill the silence nor did she retreat, not that Leliana expected her to. “Did you read my letter?” She finally asked.

Cassandra nodded. “I didn’t agree.”

Leliana laughed. “Of course you didn’t.” She straightened but kept her back to the tree. “The Inquisitor said she spoke to you…told you what happened.”

“Yes,” Cassandra answered quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“You owe me no apologies. It was the Maker’s will. You should know that as well as I.”

Cassandra didn’t know how to answer. Admittedly, she had struggled with all that had happened. If it were the Maker’s will, she had yet to see the point of it. She slowly reached out to grasp Leliana’s forearm. Underneath her gloves, she could feel Leliana’s muscles tense. However, Cassandra did not let go. “I wanted to hurt every single one of them. I wanted to rip his heart out, Leliana,” Cassandra said, referring to Alexius. She let out a long sigh, wondering if she could confess the next bit. When Leliana looked as if she wanted Cassandra to continue, she could not deny her. “The Inquisitor tried to stop me.”

Leliana looked wide-eyed at Cassandra. She thought the Seeker was speaking rhetorically, but of course, Cassandra is a woman of action. “Tried?”

“Without the use of her magic.”

"Oh," Leliana frowned. “But you can block it, anyway," she said, searching and failing for something more meaningful to say. "Well, some of it.”

“I can," Cassandra shrugged. "Usually with excruciating results for the mage. But she would never use her magic on me…unless the circumstance was very dire. And I was in no mood to listen to her reasoning.The advantage was mine.”

“So how?”

Cassandra looked away as if she were ashamed. “Lady Josephine.”

“What?”

“Lady Josephine stood in the doorway, refusing to move. She said that Alexius was more valuable to the Inquisition alive. With tears in her eyes, she agreed that what he did to you was abhorrent and that he would get his due. She said I had to trust that letting him live was the right thing to do. But I didn’t care. All that mattered to me was your pain." 

Leliana nodded. She could imagine Josie standing in front of Cassandra in all her rage-filled glory. But the thought of Cassandra championing for her made her stomach flip. "So what then?" 

"Lady Josephine can be quite formidable..." Cassandra said with a wistful smile. "The only reason he’s still alive is that I would never lay an angry hand on Josephine. Do you understand?” 

When the Leliana did not answer, Cassandra moved to stand in front her, so close that their chests were almost touching. Leliana looked up at Cassandra underneath her lashes. “Don’t, Cassandra,” she whispered. 

Cassandra shook her head. “I’ve missed you.” It came out quickly like she wanted it out in the open before she could take it back. “Since you’ve been gone, I haven’t stopped thinking about you. And if I’m honest, it’s been that way for a time now." Cassandra took a deep breath, readying herself. 

Leliana knew she should stop her, that she didn't deserve these confessions, but she felt muted. 

"It used to be that you’d cross my mind in singular moments – here and there when something reminded me of you," Cassandra spoke to her in a whisper. "Now, everything reminds me of you. My mind is filled with moments of you.” She leaned forward so that their foreheads rested gently against each other. “What would you have me do, Leliana? Pretend that I don’t see you differently. Go back to being friends? Acquaintances, or would you prefer colleagues?”

“Yes,” Leliana breathed, and if she didn’t sound so anguished, it would have hit Cassandra harder. 

“This is an unnecessary sacrifice, Leliana.”

“You don’t understand.” 

“You’re right, I don’t.”

Leliana shook her head and placed her hands on Cassandra’s chest, pushing her away. “I lived a year thinking that you were suffering or dead. One year,” she held up a finger. “And even now, I still can’t reconcile what is real and what isn’t. Sometimes I still wake with an ache in my chest thinking that all my friends…that **you** are gone. And it shatters me.”

“I’m here, Leliana. I’m here.”

“For how long?” Leliana felt tears beginning to form, and it made her angry. “I hope you never feel the hopelessness I felt, Cassandra.” She clutched at her chest. “I did not think that I would ever feel this again.” She put a hand up when Cassandra tried to comfort her. “No,” she spat. “I need to make you understand,” she took a few stumbling steps away from Cassandra before spinning back around. “Not long after our capture…after Alexius cast the time spell, I could no longer bear it. I begged my captors to tell me what had happened to you. I didn’t care if they took a pound of flesh for the information; I just wanted to know. Finally, in some sort of perverse announcement, they said you had succumbed to the Red Lyrium and that you had suffered much. The weight of that …,” Leliana shook her head. “I asked the Maker to let me die. I wanted to be released from the pain. All of it! I would taunt my captors mercilessly, trying to anger them enough so that they would finally kill me. But I survived day, after day, after day.”

Unable to keep her distance, Cassandra went to Leliana. Reaching out to her, but her hands were brushed away. “One day,” Leliana continued. “I decided to focus on just the physical. If I focused on the hurt of the needles, the scalpels I wouldn’t feel the heartache of failing. Of losing all my friends. Of losing you!” Leliana sobbed and hit out a Cassandra, her fist connecting with the Seeker’s chest. Surprised, Cassandra grabbed onto Leliana’s hand, refusing to let go. Leliana tried to pull away at first, but Cassandra held on tight, pulling Leliana to her with soothing words. The struggle left Leliana, and she fell forward into Cassandra’s arms. “And then one day,” Leliana cried. “I didn’t feel anything at all. There was no rage or anguish- just nothing. It was a moment of bliss, Cassandra. That’s how I survived. I promised that I would not let myself feel anything at all. So you see? That is how I must continue.”

Cassandra tightened her hold on the woman, saying nothing because she had no idea of what to say. 

“This is never going to work, Cassandra,” Leliana mumbled sadly into Cassandra’s shoulder. 

“It will,” Cassandra insisted quietly. 

Leliana pushed herself away from Cassandra, refusing to meet her eyes. “We don’t stand a chance, Cassandra. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything.” 

Cassandra grabbed Leliana’s arm. “Don’t run away from me. I beg you.” 

“Let go,” Leliana said with a shake of her head.

“Leliana, please.” 

“Let go!” 

Startled, Cassandra released her instantly. She could see the tears on Leliana’s face, but the Spymaster swiped them away. Then without another glance at Cassandra, Leliana strode away. 

Cassandra took a deep breath, feeling as if all had been sucked from her body. She looked up at the sky as if it held answers. Of course, there were no revelations to be had. She wanted to scream. She wanted to ram her shield into the closest tree until she collapsed in exhaustion. Instead, Cassandra closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing: in through the nose and softly out through the mouth. It was a long while before Cassandra could move from that spot. A long while before her limbs stopped shaking with adrenaline. In the end, Cassandra became more resolute. Cassandra had never felt like this before - what she was feeling for Leliana. Ever. She would fight for the both of them. She vowed that this was one door that would not remain closed. She would not give up on Leliana.


End file.
